


of basketball idiots who play hard and love easy

by aesterismo



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 27,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesterismo/pseuds/aesterismo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A multishipper's compilation of various pairing flashfic, labeled as such and redesigned for archiving purposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. compromise | mitokoga

**Author's Note:**

> Mitobe/Koganei, pre-relationship: in which everyone's favorite Seirin Benchwarming Trio learn why Kiyoshi-senpai always smiles when he sees Mitobe and Koganei having a 'conversation' off on the sidelines.

Koganei-senpai took one look at Mitobe-senpai and knew what he wanted to say.

Mitobe-senpai took one look at Koganei-senpai and smiled as if he knew.

The silent exchanges between them weaved constant circles, confusion apparent in the freshman trio’s eyes as they watched the pair. 

How did Koganei-senpai of all people, lively chatter and boundless optimism, maintain a friendship with Mitobe-senpai, the quietest Seirin regular besides Kuroko? 

“If you want, follow them home one day.” Kiyoshi-senpai’s suggestion made Furihata start and Kawahara balk and Fukuda’s eyes go wide.  “You’ll understand it, then.”

So being good underclassmen, the three of them took Kiyoshi-senpai’s words to heart and followed Koganei-senpai and Mitobe-senpai home. 

They heard from Kagami (approached with some trepidation before he left for his usual exodus to Majiba by Furihata, on account of a lost game of janken and five hundred yen owed to Kawahara) that they lived in the same direction.  That must have been why Koganei-senpai walked Mitobe-senpai home, the three freshman decided, to make sure he got home okay. 

What a good friend Koganei-senpai was, Furihata remarked, genuinely touched by the catlike teen’s benevolence.

They watched Mitobe-senpai accompany Koganei-senpai all the way to the bus stop and observed the one-sided conversation unfold.

Except it wasn’t one-sided at all, was it?  Koganei-senpai babbled on about how fun practice was today and Mitobe-senpai nodded sagely at every word, gentle gaze never leaving the smaller boy’s smiling face. 

They seemed to have an instinctual understanding, a connection like telepathy; like Kuroko and Kagami’s cooperative play on the courts, except this extended beyond basketball.

Mitobe-senpai didn’t just return Koganei-senpai’s fervent wave from the open doors of the shuttle bus, either. 

He fidgeted and looked rather flustered as he trailed after Koganei-senpai and wrapped him in a tight embrace, face burrowed in the folds of Koganei-senpai’s jersey and Koganei-senpai, vaguely indulgent, patting Mitobe-senpai on the head and departing with a chipper goodbye and one last wave of his hand.  Mitobe was smiling as he watched Koganei’s bus drive off down the street, but his downturned eyes were even more melancholy than usual, as if regretting something he hadn’t said or done.

Furihata turned to Kawahara who turned to Fukuda.  No one spoke and silence filled the gaps between the trio huddled behind the shrubbery along the winding path leading to Mitobe-senpai’s house.

From that day on, they never questioned how Koganei-senpai always knew what Mitobe-senpai was thinking or why Mitobe-senpai fussed over Koganei-senpai the most out of everyone on the team. 

(It was telepathy, they reported back to Kiyoshi-senpai the following day - and Kiyoshi-senpai just chuckles and gives them that mysterious look as he says _something like that_.)


	2. everywhere | murahimu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murasakibara/Himuro: in which all of Yousen wonder just who was following whom.

Wherever Tatsuya goes, Atsushi is sure to follow.

It’s an established rule on the Yosen team.  If you’re looking for Tatsuya, just look for Atsushi. If you’re looking for Atsushi, Tatsuya’s sure to know his whereabouts - that is, if the hulking center isn’t already right behind the shooting guard, arms draped over shoulders and chin propped none too gently on the crown of Tatsuya’s dark hair.

For however heavy Atsushi may be when he leans over the smaller teen and treats him like a personal cuddle toy, Tatsuya never complains.  For however insistent Atsushi may be when he drags his _Muro-chin_ with him to the shopping square, Tatsuya never refuses him. 

He’s nice, the other regulars know, but he’s not a pushover. 

So why indulge someone like him, a child in a giant’s body?  Why bundle him in scarves and help him into his jacket, when those large hands and willowlike arms work perfectly fine?  Why hold Atsushi’s snacks when asked while the violet-haired boy rummages through Tatsuya’s things, searching for something he “knew” he packed earlier that morning?

 _Ah_ , Wei Liu hums, thoughtful, as Atsushi at last extracts a long scarf from his schoolbag and beckons Tatsuya closer, _that’s why_.

 _Oh_ , Kensuke quips, enlightened, when Tatsuya’s gentle gaze softens as it flits from the red shawl laid with painstaking care to the hands adjusting it over the collar of his corduroy jacket, _now it makes sense_.

 _‘Everywhere Murasakibara goes, Himuro goes,’ huh._   Their captain’s tone, less disgruntled than amused, chimes in.  _If they’re trying to keep the rumors from spreading, they’re doing a terrible job of it_.

As if they heard the others from the other end of the hallway, Atsushi and Tatsuya left school that day whispering to one another, sharing snacks, wearing their matching scarves, and holding hands.


	3. we might as well be strangers | aokuro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko --> Aomine, sometime between their second and third year at Teikou: in which a matter of distance becomes a matter of battered pride (or, perhaps, vice-versa).

“Love is abstraction,” the shadow says into the silent shroud of doubt around him, “a thing I cannot touch or see.” 

No reply nor answer ever reaches him.  Just like the impossible words, the halted confessions, he hesitates again.  The question of why isn’t what troubles him, clouds his mind and heart like it has for the past months. 

The better question is _to what end?_

“You know he’s been acting strange lately.”  The shadow hears in the murmurs of those he used to call comrades, their arms thrown up in surrender.  “She says it’s because he’s going through a phase right now, but even his partner—”

 _Former partner,_ the shadow wants to interrupt.  But the memories are stuck on playback (behind closed eyelids, he sees them standing side by side, holding each other steady as the reporter’s camera immortalizes their laughter and youth in film strips and monochromatic hues) and the words never come out right, anyway.

“—can’t do anything about it.”  Hopeless, helpless, useless.  They’ve said enough.  He shuts his ears to the disappointment in various tenors, knowing their diverging paths are doomed to the same paths.

 _No_ , he thinks, an epiphany.  _It isn’t that our paths are different now.  It’s that I’ve already chosen a different path before, back when it all started_.

Love is abstraction, the shadow decides again, unable to sense where the changes began in him and where they first shifted in his (once) light and brought down the curtain on the stage of what could have been.


	4. mamihlapinatapei meets basorexia | hyuuizu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hyuuga/Izuki: on the subject of love, realized but not yet actualized.

To hesitate.

It isn’t like him.  For the record, it isn’t like either of them. 

The tension is more than palpable; the level of intimacy, otherwise, remains as elevated as ever. 

Junpei steals glances more times than he’d ever dare to count; Shun catches him staring more times than he’d care to admit.

They’re lost causes, really, what with the way they carry on with the charade. 

It leaves them at a standstill, caught between not rocks or feelings without names but a fear, the kind that seizes what links them together and brings them back together again and again. 

As if Junpei hasn’t already considered all his other options for a world without. 

As if Shun hasn’t already considered what it would take to fall out of love instead of becoming more and more deeply entrenched in it.

(Lips centimeters apart, gazes locked, it should be effortless - the single push that could set their worlds aflame and a new bond to emerge from the ashes.  But the flame that’s sparked never gets past the ignition and flickering phase before it extinguishes itself by circumstance and trepidation, the thought of rejection building the walls back around them and refusing to crumble.)


	5. träumerei in magia | hyuuizu, hinted aokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hyuuga/Izuki, hinted Aomine/Kagami in a Madoka Magica AU setting: in which a living nightmare becomes a waking dream.

It isn’t until Izuki opens his eyes that he sees how dark the sky’s become. 

The rain hasn’t let up, either.  Fingers trace the outline of smoky violet clouds, trembling lips parting with a single word, a single syllable: _why?_  

Science fiction and fantasy should be the only places where this sort of reality exists - the remains of once free-standing edifices leaning on each other for support, sirens wailing off in the distance, the Warlock’s towering form sneering down at him, down at **them** \- and yet…

Yet here they were, Izuki realizes with some semblance of greater acceptance, Hyuuga’s form boneless and heavy in his arms.  He wants to let go, should definitely let go of the boy sucking in shallow breath after shallow breath and reach for his fallen bow a few feet away, but he can’t break his eyes away from the mangled remains of Kiyoshi, only partially consumed by the manifestation of Grief Seeds hovering over him. 

He can’t. 

He can’t do this, Izuki knows, not alone.

Not without Kiyoshi or Riko or Kagami or any of the others there.

The Warlock rears back, steadying its majestic jousting horn and orange-rimmed teeth curled into a sinister grin. 

(It feels a bit like nostalgia, he thinks, and wonders if Kiyoshi felt the same way in lifetimes before, before the darkness and the sharp teeth breaking into his jugular take hold.)

Hyuuga grips his wrist, pulls him down by the collar of his earthen robes with surprising vehemence for someone with a gaping hole in his stomach, and kisses him full on the mouth for the last time. 

(It tastes like apologies, brine and boyish memory and borrowed time; Izuki savors it in the final moment, the final press leaving a mark that stays on his soul from then until, he hopes, their next reincarnation.)

The last words on his lips are not a pun, not a joke, and not a threat.  Instead, they’re a testament to what he’s resolved to do the next time, when Kagami will surely turn back time and make things right.

He believes, he believes, he _believes_ , and he’s willing to bet Aomine has all his hopes set on Kagami as well, as he always has.

( _I am not afraid of death, for death is only the beginning of new life_.)


	6. there are words i want to shout | izukaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izuki --> Kagami: in which the gift of bad pick-up lines don't have quite the intended effect on their recipient as Izuki hoped.

Shun’s mind is sharp and so is his tongue – but not with Taiga.

For the most part, no one catches onto his ruse.  Taiga hasn’t picked up on any of the signs, either. 

It’s a clever game, one that requires ingenuity as well as subtlety.  Speed and grace over instinct and reaction.  Little gestures over bold and boisterous motion. 

Not at all like basketball, where the rules work the same for every player and the fundamentals remain.

Then again, Taiga is far from an expert on romance. 

But he must have some semblance of just how far the road from infatuation to love goes.   Shun was more than willing to wait at first, but the past month has made him impatient. 

Maybe his teasing tenor just isn’t coming through?  Or is it that he’s not heaping praise after praise often enough? 

Or maybe, Shun sighs – after yet another failed pick-up line about working out earns him a bewildered stare from Taiga and a wheezing cough-laugh from Teppei standing behind him – Taiga’s just that oblivious.


	7. a whisper in the darkness disappears (sincerely) | midokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midorima/Kagami: in which two tsunderes can't quite get it together (but they try - and, sometimes, they do succeed).

Words should come easier, so long as they’re like this.

But that’s the funny thing about opposites.

Opposites like them.

Fire meets earth, scouring the once pure surface. Crimson bleeds into verdant, melding together into a dissonant balance.

Holding him, kissing him – he wants to keep his eyes open through it all.

But it’s the darkness that settles him, consoles his weary form and cradles his restless heart. It’s only in the dark that a gentle touch feels natural, that a single glance smolders, that being held by the other boy feels _right_.

Like a brighter and more brilliant piece of his heart took physical, human form and became his lover. His other half, even.

For every time Taiga laughs at Shintarou for saying so, moonlight and shadows their only company, their hands clasp tighter and he holds on tighter in response.

(For now, it’s enough.)


	8. close your eyes | momoriko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Momoi/Riko: on the matter of time well spent and time wasted on what Momoi considers a Very Good Thing.

Close, but not close enough.

Satsuki frowns, pouts, and sidles a bit closer to the girl beside her.  Again, not a single glance.  As expected.

New method, then.

“You know.”  Riko stops hacking away at her keyboard once pale pink tendrils invade her field of vision, cool palms kneading her aching shoulders.  “If you want my attention, you could’ve just said so.”

“What if,” grins Satsuki into the smooth folds of Riko’s shirt, “I didn’t have anything to say?” 

Riko still doesn’t turn around, back to numbers and blinking database fields and the names of her regulars brought up on-screen. 

“You obviously wanted something.”  Otherwise, why else would Satsuki have come over?  Preoccupied as Seirin’s coach often was, she could never be called unaware.

The former Teikou manager, for all her bold statements about being able to read others, was an open book herself. 

“I just wanted to see you.” 

If Riko didn’t know any better, she would have believed it.

But the delicate pressure of blunt nails against her forearm, the dizzied prance of skipping heartbeats when she turned to look at Satsuki, legs slipping out from under the laptop desk to Satsuki’s hands tracing her name along the firm skin of Riko’s bare thighs—

“Correction,” Riko mumbles in a breathless chuckle, which soon joins with Satsuki’s content hum, “you just wanted to _kiss_ me.”

Inhale, exhale – and, against the soft press of Satsuki’s lips, she closes her eyes and surrenders.


	9. the stars do not shine for some | izuhyuukiyo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izuki --> Hyuuga/Kiyoshi: in which a Pelican and an Owl's love story is observed and summed up in five sentences (or less) by an ever-longing Eagle.

_Look_ , laughs the Pelican with its crooked neck leaning on the Owl’s shoulder with a twinkle in his eye (a twinkle that’s only for his bespectacled Owl, his beloved Owl, a partner in name and in companionship),  _it’s a shooting star_ _!_

 _I didn’t see it_ , the Owl blinks, peering into the sky where the Pelican points to where it flashed with its large beak.  _Did you make a wish before it disappeared_ _?_

 _Of course_ , Pelican smiles - and he has a particularly bright smile tonight, as all of his avian friends wander through the fields and enjoy their stargazing adventure.  _I wished for all of us to keep on being able to play together and stay together_ _._

The Eagle, not too far from them, finds himself nodding in agreement.  Because that’s what he wished for, too.

(He also wished the Owl wouldn’t smile ever so slightly in return to the Pelican’s smile, wished the Owl would burrow into his plumage and open his wings for him instead, wished he were anything but an Eagle if it meant he could hold the Owl’s attention and make him **see** him, truly see him, for the faithful mate he would gladly become.)


	10. lines | hyuukaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hyuuga/Kagami: in which Hyuuga attempts to be a cool, calm, and collected senpai - and succeeds in only two out of three things.

“Someone told me once that if you keep making faces like that,” Hyuuga always laughs when Kagami frowns so deeply his forehead creases and his brow turns taut, “it’ll stay that way.”

“Nothing gold ever stays,” Hyuuga tells him once - only once - on a rainy day while they wait outside the gym after practice for the rain to slow down so they can catch their bus, umbrellas laid on the wet gravel and shoulders bumping, “but the best things always come back to you, even when you forget.”

“If it’s meant to be, leave it be,” is a variation of those words from Hyuuga, often gives as counsel to Kagami whenever his junior forgets to hide his telling glances, trailing after a shadow of a boy who fears and longs for the light but never speaks for the changes between them, and likely never will.  “Patience is a virtue, after all.” 

(When the storm picks up and old friends turned lovers leave Hyuuga behind, red strings snapped and broken shards of dreams laid to rest in the wake of destruction, Kagami wishes Hyuuga would take his own advice and chase after it, chase after _him_ , instead of carrying everyone else’s burdens and adding to the lines on his own face in the process.)


	11. the meaning of this ring hurts too much | himukaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Himuro/Kagami, pre-Yousen match: of longing, regret, and things of physical weight which carry a much greater burden in meaning.

When Tatsuya notices, it’s already too late.

The chain at last snaps while he’s at practice one mid-autumn’s day, blistering heat settling over his vision and making the attempt to reach under the bleachers for it more of a hassle than it has to be. 

He never complains, though - just as he can’t bring himself to complain about the rigorous shooting and passing drills their coach insists upon. 

The Winter Cup is fast approaching, after all; Tatsuya knows it as does everyone else on the team.  His fingers graze the edge of the fallen chain and it’s enough to nudge the ring closer, too.

It’s enough that he’s seen Taiga in the newspaper just last week. 

Pictures never did the younger boy justice, but the intense focus captured by that photograph alone made his grip on the periodicals that much tighter.  Out of shock?  Instinct?  The answer eludes him, just as unexplainable as the swelling surge of hope that rises in his chest seeing Taiga like that _._

He looks down at the ring, then.

Ironic, really, the way scratches now mar the once smooth surface and the faint rust leaves splotches and stains on the once silver chain.  It is getting a bit worn from so much wear and tear, but Tatsuya still can’t bring himself to replace it. 

Perhaps it’s beyond repair now, but that’s just the thing.

If he has to, Tatsuya thinks - curling stiff fingers into a fist, inhaling to send all further doubt away, vermillion eyes and a childlike smile reflected behind eyelids snapping shut - he’ll put it back together himself, piece by piece.


	12. there's just one life to live | himukaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Himuro/Kagami: in which they do get their happy ending, after all - and though it's far from perfect, it's enough.

Tatsuya comes home tired and Taiga never asks questions.

There was an implicit understanding in almost everything they did.  That was how it had always been. 

If Tatsuya got angry, Taiga stepped back and let him have his space. 

If Tatsuya had a good idea, Taiga would be the first to offer suggestions to add onto the foundation of it. 

If Tatsuya needed something, _anything_ , then Taiga was right there to do whatever he could to make his wishes come true.

Like the seaside flat with a sprawling front patio that Tatsuya designed and Taiga built - and they both saved up the money for together.  Like the hammock altered to fit two people instead of one - and the guest house they decided would be perfect for yearly get-togethers they hosted for all their old college buddies and the rare but always welcome visit from one or two or sometimes all six of the Generation of Miracles players. 

Like the promise rings that became an oath to stand by each other through sickness and health, through thick and thin, through hell and back. 

So when Tatsuya slipped past the front door, the lull of creaking wood and the quiet breathing of Taiga fast asleep on the couch (again) with the remote propped on the armrest and several microwave-ready plates of food on the adjacent coffee table reminding him that there was a certain comfort in the familiar and the understated.

So when Taiga stirred slightly at the grazing touch of a cool hand against his forehead, bleary gaze unfocused for all but ten seconds before a sheepish grin and the slightest shift to the left invited Tatsuya into the open space between the cushion’s edge and his side, the unfinished spreadsheets and irritating desk-mates all but forgotten in favor of the warmth of Taiga’s waiting arms.

So when the doubts crept and resurfaced in the face of hardship, when walking away would be as easy as a word joined by one last kiss (but he thinks about all the kisses he would miss: one first thing in the morning and another before leaving, one while at work during his lunch break and another whenever his lover can spare a moment from saving half of LA from setting itself on fire, and more times than either of them could count once they both were home from work; _home_ , at last back to the place they could call their own, back to one another at long last), Tatsuya holds himself back - holds onto Taiga, strong and steady, as much as their love had become - and smiles as the weariness dissolves from his aching bones and he knows then, for sure, that everything will be alright.


	13. let's play pretend | hyuuizu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hyuuga/Izuki: in which two boys who should be old enough to pull off a trick (of sorts) aren't fooling anyone, especially each other.

“Are we really doing this,” Hyuuga grouses under a muted breath, fidgeting with the sleeves of his yukata. 

“Having second thoughts?”  Izuki shuffles just a little bit closer to Hyuuga, so close that their geta knock together.

“Like I’d ever have second thoughts on something like this.”  No matter how snappish Hyuuga gets, Izuki sees the fond glimmer behind rounded frames and knows the slight pinch to the bridge of his nose is an affectionate one.  Dumbass.”

“Dumbass in love you mean,” declares a particularly smug Izuki, striding forward once their names are called.  “And by that, I mean both of us.” 

Hyuuga should have probably turned white as a sheet over this remark, over the patient smile of the woman behind the festival booth counter, or at least made more of a fuss over Izuki’s words. 

But he was too busy trying to think of all the ways to describe how red his face was and all the ways in which posing as a married couple to get a discount at the takoyaki stand should have been wrong but instead felt so, so _right_.


	14. clumsy (in love) | kagakise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kagami/Kise: in which their first date ever - and, apparently, Kagami's first time ice skating - goes about as well as one would expect.

“I’m going to fall,” wheezes out a trembling Kagami, every syllable enunciated as though his entire life depended on it as he clutched Kise’s forearm, “flat on my face.”

“You’ll be _fine_ ,” Kise groused with all the patience of a preschool teacher lecturing his most difficult child, and then said while gritting his teeth, other hand steadied Kagami by the waist: “It’s not like you aren’t off the ground when you’re playing basketball, so why are you so unsteady on your feet with skates?”

“I’m never trusting you again,” Kagami practically wailed - and Kise saw, with an exhale that could only be described as self-loathing, that there were tears at the corners of his eyes; _never again_ , the blond sighed for the upteenth time that day, _am I ever going to take Momocchi’s advice on where to bring Kagamicchi on a date._


	15. goodness is something you don’t have to chase | mitokoga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mitobe/Koganei: in which the two low-key boyfriends of Seirin's senpai crew settle into a new kind of arrangement - this time for keeps.

Ever since they got their own place, there’s been a rotating chore chart taped to the refrigerator door and photos frames laid everywhere the eye can see.

Everything in their apartment, in fact, were little mementos of the life they built together since they met in middle school. 

Shinji wasn’t one for paintings on the walls strewn about (neither of them were particularly artistic) and Rinnosuke liked nails in the wall about as much as he liked public speaking (he was quite stubborn about the way the kitchen was organized, too, and Shinji spent a good week orienting himself around each cabinet and drawer so every last utensil, baking tool, and bowl and plate could return to its rightful place when it was his turn to do the dishes). 

They both weren’t finicky about the state of their respective sides of the closet nor their bathroom cabinet space.  And if Rinnosuke ever noticed that Shinji accidentally used his shaving cream and cologne three times out of five, then neither of them remarked on it. 

If there was one thing that worked particularly well for them since they started living together after high school - before Shinji caught wind of all the hints, before skinship between friends slowly transformed into not-entirely-platonic touching while watching late-night sitcom reruns under the blanket, before Rinnosuke finally, _finally_ decided that enough was enough and a single word murmured breathless against the nape of Shinji’s neck at last turned their friendship into a dedication to one another that was now impossible to imagine a world without - it was their sleeping arrangement.

Even before they became a couple, Shinji and Rinnosuke slept on a single bed.  There wasn’t any sort of awkwardness felt (at least not at first) and Shinji was a particularly tactile person to begin with.  In all of their notebook conversations and for all their minor disagreements in the years they lived together, Rinnosuke never complained about the way Shinji held him close while they slept, never mentioned that it was stifling to having arms wound around his neck and shoulders and waist, never hesitated to embrace the older male and burrow his nose into the messy crown of his hair and whisper adoring words against his jawline before they fell asleep, post-coital or otherwise, basking in one another’s body heat. 

It was their form of comfort - their source of reassurance - that the things they shared and the things they accommodated for were all indeed for keeps.


	16. it's impossible to ignore you | kagakise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kagami/Kise: in which a date at Majiba turns into a discussion on who has whom wrapped around their little finger.

“Kagamicchi,” Kise beamed while they sat together at a corner booth at Majiba at some ungodly hour of the early morning after one of Kise’s photoshoots ran late and Kagami - not entirely unwilling, though - was dragged out on account of the fact that he couldn’t sleep, “has anyone ever said you’ve got a cute face?”

Kagami froze in mid-bite with a look torn between utter horror and mortification.

“WHAT.”  The redhead squawked, done with a coughing fit that lasted nearly fifteen seconds.  “F-First of all, I told you to stop calling me that—!”

“Even though there isn’t anyone around to hear me call you that?” Kise pointed out, folding and unfolding his napkin.

“And second of all…where are you even—?!  You know what.  Never mind.”  The taller boy reached over his tray to steal some of Kise’s leftover fries, grumbling under his breath something mostly inaudible (though the blond caught something like _look who’s talking_ ).  “Copy Master, my ass.  They should call you the BS Master instead.”

“If I didn’t know you so well, I’d call you out on that.”  Kise laughed, leaning back briefly against the Vitro seat.  “But I know you don’t really mean it, so it’s okay.  Which is another cute thing about you.”

At this rate, Kise mused with a touch of genuine concern, Kagami might actually asphyxiate himself with the way food kept getting lodged in his throat.  His face was scarlet (that was cute, too, how flustered an offhand compliment could make him) at this point, between the oxygen loss and his disgruntled embarrassment; the tips of his ears fared no better, watery gaze turned down toward the tabletop and one hand raised in protest briefly (also cute) before dropping into his lap.

“M’not cute, okay…no guy wants to be called ‘cute,’ y’know…least of all by another guy…”

“Kagamicchi,” murmured Kise, a bit exasperated as he leaned over to Kagami (who, bless his cute little heart, at last went quiet about his choice of words and pet names) before continuing, “how about we just agree to disagree and admit that, to me, you’re the cutest person I know?”

The furtive, almost skeptical glance over his hands still covering his face was just too cute— no, **adorable**. 

“I thought you said Kuroko was the cutest person you knew.”

“A-Awww, but Kagamicchi!  That’s not fair— okay, okay.  Fine, then.”  Kise sighed, pouted, and curbed his doleful whine in favor of a flagrant wave of his hand.  “Kurokocchi can be the second-cutest person I know…and you’ll be my first.”  Then, a tone lower, “In more ways than one, if you’d like…speaking of which, your place or mine tonight?”

Surprisingly, the only way Kise could think of to describe Kagami’s expression at that moment (a spark of unbridled enthusiasm, a hint of unspoken want, and all the confidence in the world) was  _perfect_.

“If you put it that way,” smirked Kagami, completely unabashed as he stood up and started for the door - though not before grabbing Kise’s wrist and pulling the chuckling blond to his feet, “then how could I refuse?”

“So is that a yes for my place,” Kise spoke, fingers laced with Kagami’s and a before they even stepped out the back door, “or a yes for yours?”

“Mine,” breathed Kagami against the nape of Kise’s neck - a promise, perhaps, of all the ways the competitive teen wanted to show his boyfriend just how much more than ‘cute’ he could be.  

Which was yet another cute trait of his…but Kise decided against saying so.  Even if it was true.


	17. keep your head up | gen, multi-school ensemble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multi-school ensemble: in which a perfect day out for basketball and several Bad Ideas don't go well together, as expected.

Someone threw something at his head.

Kagami whirled around.  Expression blank, he watched a basketball skipped, rolled, and dropped into the grass a good meter away from him.  No one nearby could have thrown that.  Certainly not that hard.

His eyes flew from Takao (babbling away with Kasamatsu and Midorima in tow) to Kuroko (wait, how did he get to his end of the court, anywa— never mind) and briefly to Riko and Momoi sitting together by the bleachers (calling Hyuuga and Kiyoshi over, no doubt, to scold them for breaking into their waning snack and drink rations…again).  None of those options made sense; his smarting neck and pounding temples from the force of impact told him that much.

One glance to the right - and then, an epiphany that made him stomp over, ignoring Kuroko’s offering of a cool towel.

“ **You** ,” snarled the redhead once he was within grabbing distance, holding up the culprit by the collar.  “Did you seriously do what I think you just did?”

“Depends.”  Aomine doesn’t even try to hold back the shit-eating grin on his face.  He’s also a spectacular actor when it comes to his vocal inflection, as Kagami discovered on their many outings for streetball matches in the past few months.  “What do you think I just did?”

Kagami ground his teeth, about ready to create a new set of colorful expletives when a new voice chimed in.    


“Is he throwing balls again?”  Kagami wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that Kise (probably) made a double entendre just now or the fact that _it’s happened before_.  He loosens his hold a bit on Aomine’s jacket with a sidelong frown in the blond’s direction.  “Please tell me he isn’t throwing balls again.”  Kise scrunches his nose, the very picture of derision.  “Aominecchi, honestly.”

“What?”  Now Aomine at least has the grace to look sheepish, though a sheepish look on the Touou ace is as mismatched as slipper socks and a bonnet on a full-grown panther.  “You’re the one who said it, not me.  See, Bakagami - Kise’s the one who likes throwing balls at people.”

Two seconds of tense silence later, Kagami threw his hands up in the air and started outright swinging at Aomine’s face.

“So it WAS you, bastard—!”

“Ahhhh, Aominecchi, I’m sorryyyyyyyyyy—!”

“Dammit, Kagami, stop clawing at my face, you son of a—!”

_Thudwhackthud_ _._

Before Kise could blink, Kagami and Aomine found their faces planted into the painted asphalt, a pair of basketballs bouncing off their prone forms with a vehemence that made it clear whose handiwork this was.

“Kurokocchi,” Kise intoned, a touch more frightened than he should have been seeing the shorter boy approach them.  “Was that really necessary?”

The aqua-haired teen shrugged, nonchalant as he knelt down to check if his two lights were indeed unconscious.

“If they kept going like that,” Kuroko rejoined with a vague but all too amused smile, “Coach would have made it so that no one gets to play basketball for the rest of the month.  Possibly the whole year, if it distracted her and Momoi-san from their conversation enough.”

Kise decided from that day on that the following three things: no more ball jokes, no more double-dog daring with Aomine, and no more getting Kuroko even slightly irritated.  That was the recipe for disaster right there, especially around the courts on a late summer Sunday afternoon.


	18. can you keep a secret? | professor!kuroko/student!kagami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko/Kagami in a college AU setting: of three specific points in Kagami's college life where getting into trouble never sounded so good.

_I’m in so much trouble_ , thinks Kagami Taiga the moment their professor, Kuroko Tetsuya, walks into the lecture hall, their teacher who was a head shorter than even the shortest students in the class, their teacher whose robin’s egg blue hair matched those startlingly blue eyes, whose tapered fingers danced along the edge of the tables as he ambled through the rows and never had to speak higher than a soft, low timbre for those listening to ever doubt the sincerity in his tone.

 _I’m in_ ** _so_** _much trouble_ , Kagami Taiga found himself thinking at the local burger place, Kuroko-sensei sitting ever poised across from him, idle chitchat about test scores and accidental meetings and local streetball tournaments, pretty mouth wrapped around the thin straw of his vanilla shake in a way that makes the redhead’s mouth run dry at the thought of those pretty little lips being just as skilled at lessons on economics and siphoning sweet beverages as they were other things.

 _We’re gonna get in so much **trouble**_ , Kagami Taiga thinks with a fistful of pale hair under his palm, his other hand reaching back to hold onto the edge of the wooden desk pressed into his spine, tearing his eyes away from the office door left ajar in favor of the older male tracing promises and confessions against his inner thigh with the flat of his tongue, nothing less than beautiful and absolutely wrong in all the right ways with those blue, blue eyes staring up at him and the growing spectre of a smile against those tiny, talented lips formed into a telltale murmur of amusement: _if we get into trouble, at least it’ll be with you_.


	19. for better or for worse | kurokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko/Kagami: in which a joke goes too far, Seirin's resident shadow gives their ace nervous heart palpitations, and the rest of Seirin is a little too encouraging of the couple's future plans post-graduation.

Someone drops their ball when they hear the news. 

Kagami’s almost sure it’s Koganei, based on the frantic shuffling that follows the dull thud and the lack of reaction from those around him (Mitobe wears a shell-shocked expression and the wide-eyed freshman trio are too far from him for the residual effects to reach).  Tsuchida and Izuki even look a touch disturbed, a miracle considering how rarely the former’s countenance ever changes.  Their captain looks ready to rip his towel into shreds - or cry.  Kiyoshi keeps a grin on his face but his eyebrows lift at the end and make him look…worried.  Or amused.  It’s hard to tell with Kiyoshi, as is everything involving Kiyoshi.

Their coach is the first to speak, predictably. 

“Kuroko-kun,” Riko begins, steel smile translating loosely to _I am going to put you in a German supplex hold if you don’t tell me what the hell is going_ on.  “Could you repeat what you just said to all of us now that we’re listening, please?”

“I asked Kagami-kun to marry me,” says Kuroko, with a mildness usually reserved for talking about tomorrow’s weather and a slight exasperation to his tone having to repeat himself.  “And he accepted my proposal.”

Coach’s smile **twitches** at the final word; involuntary, perhaps, but Kuroko’s words silenced the bewildered murmurs of their teammates and set Kagami’s face aflame all over again. 

How on Earth did he get roped into this again?  Oh, right.  It was all that asshole Aomine’s fault.  Everything was Aomine’s fault in some form or another.  

“That wasn’t what I sa—!”

“Then you’re taking it back?”  Of all things holy and basketball-related— way to make a guy feel bad.  Kagami grit his teeth at Kuroko’s disappointed gaze, guilt worming its way into the flustered heat spread across his visage.

“I _said_ ,” Kagami rejoined, a difficult task with his teeth grit and ten other sets of wondering eyes on them (the dog didn’t count, staring up at his owner’s partner with the same doleful set of big blue eyes as his owner), “we can’t get married yet, but in America you can!” 

“Yet,” Koganei has this shit-eating grin on his face that Kagami wants to punch right off him.  Mitobe even seems oddly amused.  Izuki lets out a snigger that earns him Kiyoshi’s approving glance and Hyuuga’s most perturbed death glare. 

“So you’re both moving to America when you graduate, then?” Riko’s smile transforms entirely, and Kagami knows it means  _I am going to kill you both, right here and now, no questions asked_ and feels a cold sweat run down his back.  “You wouldn’t leave us before we take the Nationals by storm, I’m sure.”

“Of course not.”  Kuroko, bless his (evil) little heart, gives their coach a wan ghost of a smile and sidles up to Kagami’s side, lacing their hands together with a firmness that has Kagami holding on right back.  “We absolutely intend to wait until we’ve graduated before getting engaged.  And I have every intention of waiting for Kagami-kun as long as it takes.”

“Awww,” supplies Izuki, a chorus which echoes through the second-year (plus Kiyoshi) line.  “C’mon team, let’s go throw basketballs instead of rice for the nice couple!  For good luck!”

The freshman even brighten at even this terrible attempt at a joke, Furihata beaming outright as though he had personal investment in their happiness.  Hyuuga grumbles something under his breath, but he can’t hide the upward quirk to his own lips.  Kiyoshi nods in approval, flashing them both a thumbs-up. 

“That’s really sweet, Kuroko-kun.”  Riko actually softens - _finally,_ Kagami breathes an inward sigh of relief, still wanting to crawl under a rock and never reemerge - patting them both on the shoulder.  “You make a great pair on the court, so—”  And then comes the kicker, which makes Kagami squawk in pure mortification, “I give you both my blessings.”


	20. capernoited | kurokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko/Kagami: in which, even after a shower, Kuroko can't shake that pleasantly warm and content feeling in his chest (and it's not the martinis talking, he swears).

_It’s cold_ , the still flushed Kuroko mumbles against the front of Kagami’s shirt once they were finally back in their hotel suite, the shadow’s face pressed into the fabric folds while the taller boy cradles him to his chest.  _You’re surprisingly warm, though_ _._

 _You’re the one who wanted to keep me in the shower an extra twenty-minutes_ , Kagami chides but draws the blanket tighter around the cool legs twined with his.  _So it’s your own fault_.

 _…Must’ve been the martinis talking,_ was Kuroko’s absentminded drawl of a reply, their knees knocking as the smaller teen shifts just enough to press a brief kiss to the upturned ends of his lips.

 _Sure,_ Kagami snorts, a rough bark of laughter that belies the soft tousle of damp and unruly blue hair, something he hopes the older one will remember in the morning considering how much he drank at the reception.  _Whatever helps you sleep at night._

It should go without saying, of course.  But Kagami likes having the last say, likes that Kuroko always lets him. 

(Needless to say, Kuroko passes out cold a minute later, and his even breathing lulls Kagami into dreamland as well.)


	21. drive you home | kurokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko/Kagami: in which, a rare occurrence indeed - Kagami gets smashed and Kuroko considers the power of suggestion.

“And then, and then—”  With his ruddy face burrowed in the crook of Kuroko’s arm, Kagami still couldn’t stop laughing - or talking, for that matter, based on the way this ‘funny little story’ had gone on for the past twenty minutes.  Kuroko would have found it funnier if Kagami didn’t keep swatting his back with all the force of a top-brand pitching machine.  “—He tells me to sit back and wait for him.  **Wait** for him!  Can you believe this guy?”

“But you waited, anyway.”  The next tequila shot was downed as quickly as the twenty-third (or was it the twenty-fifth?  Kuroko stopped counting at least an hour ago, right around the time his partner started crowing his interpretive rendition of _Raise Your Glass_ from his barstool makeshift stage), but Kuroko knew Kagami wouldn’t last much longer.  “You’re good at waiting, it seems, but I’m sure Aomine-kun already knew that.” 

The redhead grunted some incomprehensible reply, leaned more heavily against him, and reached for the carafe - except his hand slipped from the counter at the last second, dropping into the blue-haired boy’s lap and landing dangerously close to where more heat concentrated than on Kagami’s flushed face. 

“Think I had too much to drink,” mumbled Kagami against the swell of his too-stiff shoulder, blurred sunset horizons the last thing on Kuroko’s mind when the taller male lifted his unfocused — but bright as always, so bright it should have been blinding, especially knowing his light was so inebriated that everything about this moment would be gone by morning — gaze to meet Kuroko’s unflinching stare. 

“Kise’s not gonna be home ‘till morning, yeah?”  The implication isn’t lost on Kuroko, who nearly drops his soda.  “Let’s go back to your dorm.  S’closer, anyway.”

“It is closer,” Kuroko replied with a light chuckle, pulling an unsteady Kagami unsteady to his feet and considering all the night’s remaining possibilities: the good (Kagami makes it home and passes out on his couch, though not before inviting Kuroko to join him for a cuddle session), the bad (Kagami passes out on the way back to campus, Kuroko’s lap as a pillow, and all the cold showers in the world not enough to remove the image for the rest of the week), and the absolute ideal (Kagami pinning him against the foyer wall before they make it through the front door or picking him up and carrying him all the way to the bedroom or Kagami’s giddy and guileless laughter resonating while their lips make promises for the morning after and hands grasp at feverish skin and the only thing that they get drunk on is the sound of one another’s voices, the graceless touch of youthful passion and overdue spontaneity, forgoing tomorrow in favor of tonight).  “Better not to take our chances, I suppose.”

With any luck, Kuroko decided as Kagami’s fingers lace with his and the taxi driver’s brief glance in the rearview mirror notwithstanding, he’d have a few ‘funny little stories’ of his own to tell Aomine when his former light came to visit. 

Maybe a few to keep just for himself, too.


	22. dress me up | genderbent!kurokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko/Kagami in a genderbent AUverse where every character is born the opposite sex: of the benefits of having Kise tag along on their mall outings, trying o(n)ut new things, and potential future career choices.

Taiga doesn’t expect Tetsuna to come out of that fitting room stall alive.

If it’s just Ryouna’s involved, Tetsuna might have been able to get out of it.  But Satsuma, ever the scheming bastard, pulled out his wallet and told his “baby girl” to buy whatever outfit she wanted.  Which led to Ryouna asking for at least ten different outfits to be plucked off the mannequins and dragging Tetsuna none too gently into the dressing area. 

Leaving Daika and Taiga to sit on plastic chairs by the cashier’s counter in the crowded UNIQLO shop, cursing their terrible luck.

“The only reason I came along on this shopping trip from hell,” huffed Daika, picking at the stray threads on Ryouna’s tweed jacket, “because Satsuma promised he’d buy us lunch.  I heard Tetsu was coming, but I didn’t know _you_ were coming, too.”

“Well, excuse me,” Taiga spat with the vehemence of a fire-breathing tiger, “for coming along.  And it’s not like I knew you were coming, either!”  Then, shrugging off her own sweatshirt in favor of the sleeveless tank top underneath: “If I’d known that, I would’ve stayed home.”

“You should’ve,” Daika quipped, tone mild while still glowering in the red-haired girl’s direction.  “But knowing Tetsu, she probably planned all this.  Well, probably not Ryouna being a tag-along or Satsuma wanting to get her dolled up.  The part about us ‘getting along,’ though…”

“Knowing Kuroko,” Taiga groaned, brief glance in Touou’s ace’s direction matched by an equally exasperated look, “no doubt about it.”

The dressing room stall’s curtains being thrown open and Ryouna’s high heels trotting toward them made the two lights both start and turn in her direction.

“Ladies and gentleladies!”  Ryouna beamed, tiny silver bells clinking from where they hung off the hair tie keeping her side ponytail together.  “May I proudly present to you the new and improved (though she’ll always be the prettiest girl around to me)………Kurokocchi~!”

Daika and Taiga (and Satsuma, who had run from the other end of the store to join the procession) peered around the blond - and the instant Tetsuna stepped out of the stall into view, Taiga nearly dropped the vanilla shake she’d been holding for her shadow.

During practice, Tetsuna wore the baggiest shirts and pants.  She almost never wore anything other than black, blue, or white; Taiga could attest to that, meeting with Tetsuna on the occasional weekend.  But never once - not in the times Tetsuna stayed overnight at her apartment nor in the times Tetsuna would slip away and change by herself somewhere while everyone else freshened up in the locker rooms - did Taiga think that Tetsuna could look, well, _feminine_. 

Not feminine in that overly gaudy, disgustingly cute and contrived way, either, like Ryouna sometimes came off as to Taiga.  Tetsuna was refined elegance, the kind of feminine that wasn’t weak or fragile or delicate at all.  From the way she stood with her little wooden clogs and knee-high aquamarine skirt, to the smooth dip of pale collarbones exposed by a white button-down shirt and floral-print cardigan way, to the way her lengthening hair framed the smoke-lined sundials cast by downturned lashes, Tetsuna wasn’t just “pretty.” 

She still stood with unbridled strength and vigilance, perpetual owlish gaze, regarding Ryouna, Daika, Satsuma, and Taiga in turn with expectation.  But she was a different kind of beauty altogether when dressed like this, striding forward with a grace and a confidence that it made Taiga’s mouth run dry and synapses to fizz out.

“Is this good enough,” Tetsuna sighed when Satsuma outright squealed and almost bowled the poor girl over, “for a repayment of old debts, Kise-kun?” 

“I’ll say,” wolf-whistled Daika, clapping in obvious approval while Ryouna whipped out her cell phone to snap photo after photo of her handiwork.  “Think this is the best Ryouna’s done with you yet, Tetsu!  And Ryouna, you seriously should be a fashion designer, not a model.”

Maybe it was because Taiga hadn’t said her part on the matter yet - or maybe Tetsuna, being Tetsuna, had taken note of Taiga’s wonderment and rose-tinged cheeks - but the shadow came right up to her light then, taking the plastic cup from Taiga’s outstretched hand and holding the redhead’s stare while she took a long and thoughtful sip of her vanilla shake.

“I think Kagami-kun should be next,” Tetsuna wasn’t quite smiling, but those kohl-lined azure hues were aglow, a sign she had a plan which she intended to execute to the very end, “to get a makeover.  Kise-kun can coordinate our outfits to match, I’m sure.”

And if Tetsuna ever noticed how Taiga struggled to catch her breath with those words, she never mentioned it. 

(Taiga never forgot, though, both the feeling and the look on Tetsuna’s face when she actually did smile at her partner’s sage nod in reply.)


	23. to the victor goes | kurokagaao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko/Kagami/Aomine: in which the logistics of triangular formulas are considered and all good intentions have a decisive payoff.

Tetsuya has good intentions. 

He’s always been the forthright and stalwart one between them.  The one who knows how to handle difficult situations, the one who takes things in stride and finds solutions – he’s the one with all the ideas, all the schemes, and all the determination to see plans through. 

Others might take advantage of it, try to manipulate him.  But Tetsuya knows how to pick his fights, knows how to weave his way out and around and between crowds of un(trust)worthy passerby, favoring those better suited to the main event.

Those like Daiki, for example. 

Daiki has good eyes.  Eyes for people, eyes for things; brilliant eyes, really, the way they glimmer and glisten on and off  the court.  Less crystalline and more diamond.  Well-defined and clear-cut.  The kind of eyes that elude and wander and…appreciate.

Others might never take notice, recognize the common spark.  But Tetsuya knows since their rematch, knows from the instant Daiki’s gaze stops and stares, forgets to breathe and forgoes all former rivalry. 

Taiga deserves every bit of praise the world can possibly grant him.

In a word, “captivating.”  In a phrase, “a boy in a growing young man’s body.”  For all his apparent awkwardness and diffidence, Taiga looks nothing short of picturesque when he smiles, truly smiles, and lets down the last of his lingering defenses. 

It’s even more apparent after matches, in the locker rooms, when strong arms shrug off sweat-lined shirt, slowly tug at the slipping waistband of his shorts, sliding past them to walk to the near-emptied shower stalls and leaving two sets of spectating eyes trailing after.

Daiki has good eyes.  Tetsuya has good intentions. 

The former smirks.  The latter’s mouth quirks as well, calloused knuckles and deft fingers already curled around the redhead’s towel, retrieved from its place forgotten on the bench not moments before.

(And Taiga – perhaps he knows, perhaps he doesn’t.  But Daiki and Tetsuya both know it’s that Taiga’s complacency is but one of the many attractive things about him and that the best part about their weekend street ball meet-ups is the prize won after the game.)


	24. the first kiss is never the easiest | kurokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko/Kagami: on the magic that doesn't quite come with that very first kiss (though, thankfully, there's still plenty more to make up for it).

Height’s the first obstacle.

He’s got a good - fifteen? twenty? - thirty centimeters or so on him.  It should make Tetsuya a bit more daunted, more anxious. 

Then again, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.  If he were alone, he would allow himself a smile.

But the thought occurs to him halfway on their walk back home that evening from their usual Majiba exodus after Friday practice, Kagami-kun’s strides keeping him just ahead of the smaller boy.  Tetsuya trails behind on purpose just to see that broad back, to trace the outline of his familiar figure with his eyes; astute, adamant, adoring.

His hands tighten around the strap of his bag as he recalls, imagines.  Sunset-dyed rubies, precious stones alight with purpose.  Sandstone-lined dunes, sculpted by experience and heat and overexertion.  Like the midwinter’s eve weather, foretelling snow even this late into the season, restless heat laid beneath the stinging cold, a creature comfort. 

He doesn’t register the way his palms ache until his grip grows slack of its own accord.

“You’re way too quiet,” Kagami-kun announces, the admonishment quickening Tetsuya’s pace and pulse in turn.  “Something up?”

“Not really.”  Inwardly, he winces.  The team teases him for being slow on the uptake, but Kagami-kun knows him, all his learned tells and slight shifts in timbre.  Knows clipped replies mean _distracted_ and hesitation in conversations with his surprisingly talkative shadow means _something’s wrong_.  “I’m still tired from practice, but otherwise, everything’s fine.”

For any ordinary person, that reassurance would work. 

“‘cause you need to eat more.”  Kagami-kun shakes his head.  Then, he looks at Tetsuya (disgruntled, brusque…concerned?) to chastise him further.  “Seriously, take better care of yourself!  Unless you want me to break into your house and make sure you eat right while your folks are away on business.”  Kagami-kun outright frowns.  “Don’t think I won’t do it, either.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, Kagami-kun.”

“I-I didn’t mean it literally!”  Tetsuya likes this expression best, he thinks: flustered, riled-up, bewildered, that sidelong gaze focused only on him.  He does a mental tally of all the things can think of that he likes best, counting a mere three things (a good book to read, vanilla shakes, and basketball) which aren’t about the boy turning as red as his hair.  “It’s just…you’re skinny as hell, so it makes people worry about you.”

“Are you,” Tetsuya intones, the ghost of a smile visible over the tawny muffler, “worried about me?”

“M’always worried about you.”  A startled silence passes as they continue walking — that is, until the taller boy actually _does_ turn as red as his hair, stopping short in mid-step right before they reach the next crosswalk.  “Wait a sec— **shit** , that came out wr—”

“Kagami-kun.”  The sound of his name alone silences any further protests.  Tetsuya smiles, the rush of taxi cabs passing by and the faint hum of passerby on the other side of the emptying streets filling the void.  “Thank you.  You’re always looking after me.”  A brief pause, Tetsuya continues, softer.  “Even when it comes off as overbearing, it means a lot.”

His eyes fall shut involuntarily when those big warm hands thread through azure strands, gentle despite their size.  He opens them when the presence leaves, retracting to slide down further to his forearm.  Turning him slightly so they’re face to face, Kagami-kun leaning down until unrelenting stares meet.

“It’s cold as all hell out here,” Kagami says, like it’s an afterthought.  As if it’s meant to keep Tetsuya’s cursory glances from wandering: pink-tipped ears, the unoccupied curbside, their team namesake embroidered on his jersey, and back up to the vague curve of the redhead’s lips jutting out in a slight pout.  “My place’s a lot closer, but I still wanted to walk you back.”

“I don’t mind staying the night,” Tetsuya says, like it means nothing.  But it means an endless realm of possibilities to him: midnight snacks, movie marathons until early morning, inching closer and closer until Kagami-kun slumps against him, nose resting in the crown of his hair or the nape of his neck and exhales the same way Tetsuya struggles to inhale.  “As long as you don’t mind having me, anyway.”

“Of course not.”  In reply, Kagami-kun pulls him into a one-armed embrace — somewhat awkward but altogether affectionate.  They’ve spent months upon months getting to this point, acquaintances turned unlikely partners turned friends.  “I wouldn’t bring it up if I didn’t mean it.”

Now, forms huddled close, Tetsuya decides he never wants to the other male’s side.  From the way Kagami-kun’s other arm draws him closer, pulling him into the folds of his jacket (the heady scent, like light frost painting his windowpane, reminds him of their solidarity, of promises kept and vows not yet forged), the feeling of whatever exactly lies between them is mutual. 

When he lifts his head, catches the taller boy by the mouth on tiptoe, he lingers. 

Just long enough to leave the other leaning back down in to return the kiss.  Just long enough to savor the long-awaited moment, capture the glimmer of hope, the dancing flame in Kagami-kun’s questioning eyes.  Just long enough to bask in the contented hush of the settling winter around them, the centimeters traversed and the lessening space between, the reverent graze of lips that turns into a slight shudder echoed by the shadow as he presses, bites down, twines their hands together and anchors him with the weight of one hand on his hip and the other pressed into the pads of his fingertips. 

“I’m sure it doesn’t have to be said,” Tetsuya quips once they at last pull away, the last of their doubts dissipate into the open air and eliciting a few chuckles from them both, “but I hope you realize neither of us will be getting any sleep tonight.”

“O-Obviously,” his light, _his_ light, at least has the grace to look sheepish — but his next words make it clear he didn’t quite understand his shadow’s provocation.  “We’ve got a lot of stuff to talk about, right?”

But that side of Kagami-kun, Tetsuya thinks — taking his hand, leading him instead of being led, pulling his laughing partner along the rest of the way back to his apartment — is something he likes, too.  The unexpected naivety despite his hulking frame.  The unconditional acceptance and trust behind everything he does for his shadow and vice-versa.  The way their differences provide contrast to keep things interesting but their similarities grant Tetsuya all the selfish wishes his greedy heart can conjure.

“Yes, we do.”  Tetsuya smiles, discovers that not having to hold back is a form of freedom in and of itself.  “It might take until morning, but I’m sure we can at least get down to the basics tonight.  Starting with how things escalated to that kiss before.” 

(To the plaintive grumbles of Kagami-kun’s protests, Tetsuya decides he doesn’t mind being _too honest_ and _embarrassing_ if it yields results like these — and, if push came to shove tonight, he could win his light over beyond the first kiss and the first date yet.)


	25. butterfly | nebumibu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nebuya/Mibuchi: of unexpected elegance, the benefits of having a teammate like Hayama, and what suits both Reo and Eikichi just fine.

He’s never really noticed it until now.

Sure, Reo’s lashes were longer than most guys’ were.  Ridiculously long, even.  Like, longer than long.  Foot-long, long.  Long and kind of pretty and as dark as his hair.

His hair.  That was part of the problem, actually.

Hayama says it suits Reo-nee, insists it looks good on him and that he should keep it on for the rest of practice.  That’s another problem with Reo — doesn’t he ever get tired of that nickname?  If Hayama ever started giving him nicknames like that, Eikichi wouldn’t care how talented the kid was or how much Akashi would give him hell for it; he’d punch the snaggle-toothed blond right in the face, no questions asked. 

The only one who’d probably ask questions would be Reo, surprisingly stubborn when crossed and stupid considerate when it comes to his teammates.  Mibuchi Reo, full of infinitesimal contradictions.  A man’s man who could pass for an attractive lady with the right makeup, the right clothes, the right camera angles.

Like now. 

Reo reaches up to touch the butterfly clip holding his long bangs atop his head, delicate nails tracing the shape of the metallic bends and dips.  The powder blue matches his uniform, complimenting the pallor of clear skin and the gleam of neatly combed locks.  His fist opens, closes, in the open air.  A display of how the sinews on built arms flex and respond in turn to such an action, but there’s no apparent reason for it.  Reo’s always been a bit of an enigma for Eikichi.

He turns to the taller teen then, flashing him a quiet smile.  Keeps his lips sealed but the light twitch to it speaks volumes for his amusement. 

Reo notices everything, Eikichi realizes — knows, with some level of resignation, and sighs - before he walks over to offer a compliment of his own to the preening third year.  An honest one.  The only one he can think of that makes sense.

( _It works good with your hair_ gets countered, as expected, with a playful reply of _maybe Kotarou can find one that’ll work with your hair to match_. 

 _Sure_ , Eikichi laughs in spite of himself, knowing there’s no room for argument, _then let’s ask him to bring one for me next time._ )


	26. the lucky ones | kurokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kagami/Kuroko in an AU setting: in which Kagami has never met Kuroko offline, doesn't know what to expect, and - even after meeting The Shadow in person - he has no idea how lucky they both are.

Blunt fingernails drummed against the wooden surface, idle yet impatient. 

It’s one-thirty in the afternoon at the nearest Majiba to his apartment.  Taiga knew he was early, come much earlier than necessary, but he couldn’t bring himself to run late.  His leg began to ache; rain would reach this side of town within an hour, he knew, from the dull throb of his old injury acting up.

As it was, sleep was impossible last night.  As it had been for the past few nights since he got the message.  A suggestion. 

( _Since I’ll be in the area for TOG Con this weekend, I was wondering if you wanted to meet IRL?_ )

‘The Shadow.’  How the hell did he even **get** that username, anyway?  Taiga rubbed his bare hands together, still numb from walk from his apartment to the restaurant.  This year’s lowest temperatures indeed lived up to their label, but all the weather reports predicted they would come later this winter rather than now.  Even snow drifts as high as the ones from last week were unusual, particularly for this part of the island.

( _If you’d like to, let me know your phone number through DM and I’ll send you a text message to arrange a place we can meet.  If not, then — so long as you’re comfortable with it — we can exchange phone numbers to remain in contact that way._ )

Then again, Taiga realized as his upturned lips pressed into the plastic rim of his soda cup, countless things in his life took a sudden change — for better and for worse — as of late.

( _Please don’t feel obligated to accept if you don’t feel comfortable, of course.  I realize it’s only been three months since we joined SEIR.IN together.  But I’d like to see what the famous Tuesday’s Hero looks like in_ _person._ )

IRL.  In person.  If it hadn’t been for Tatsuya’s gaming addiction and insistence on having his brother play with him, Taiga probably wouldn’t be here of all places. 

Here, with a grumbling stomach and more than a few extra dollars in his wallet, this time not for the newest expansion pack or an order of fast food to go but _to **stay**_. 

Here, with half a mind to leave and head back home, warmer than here in this burger joint and thousands and possibilities for how best to introduce himself to the soon-to-be occupant of the booth in front of him. 

Here, decked out in red, black, and white — the official colors of their guild — and proudly wearing the gold-lined insignia of SEIR.IN embroidered into the woolen fabric of his hat.  A hat he designed. 

Something that he — Kagami Taiga, the tallest kid in his homeroom class for three years straight, who had a reputation for being awkwardly polite and surprisingly ingenuous — designed at his raid partner’s suggestion.

SEIR.IN, a community that gave him a place to belong when he left high school and started college life in a whole new prefecture.  SEIR.IN, made up of a bunch of college guys just like him, headed by the most capable Guild Master Taiga’s ever known in The World, no matter that she just happens to be, well, a girl.  SEIR.IN, the guild he joined after he heard about their reputation on the server for strategic tactical combat above achievement hoarding.  

SEIR.IN, the reason he met the singlemost interesting person he’s ever known.  The Shadow, who lived up to his name in how little he knew about the other user’s personal life.  The Shadow, who rarely spoke over the Vent channel yet possessed such a powerful influence over Seirin that even their GM, Ari, listened to his advice on how to take out the Guardians. 

And his advice was always right.  Always, _always_ right.

The extra-loud chime of his cell phone shook Taiga from his reminiscing.  He sat upright at the name displayed on the outer screen: KT.  Though his partner was secretive above most everything about himself, he allowed his initials to be known when Taiga asked what name to register along with his number. 

The memory alone made the redhead smile, thinking of the forty-five minute phone conversation he had with the other boy living two prefectures away just the other night.  Staying up to talk about what their plans were for after graduating, about basketball, what they knew of the other guild members, and their parents’ similar professions.  The (many) similarities and (not as many) differences between them, as well. 

Too busy replying to the message sent to him, he didn’t even notice the unassuming boy dressed in a blue scarf step past the sliding doors, sweep by the cashier, and approach his table.

“You must be Tuesday’s Hero,” a delicate tenor chimed, softer than the hum of other Majiba-goers’ conversations but loud enough to make Taiga jump — and, much to his embarrassment, drop his phone in shock.  

He’s here early too, thought Taiga as he scrambled to pick up what he dropped, just like he said he’d try to be _._

The young man in front of him barely looked old enough to be a freshman in college, but his eyes and hair were indeed the shocking shade of bright blue he claimed they were over the phone yesterday. 

His scarf, too, nearly swallowed his lithe frame, the thick fabric hovering over ashen cheeks stained pink and unraveled by small clever hands.  If it wasn’t for the SEIR.IN insignia sewn into the collar of his mage’s uniform beneath his coat now being removed as well, Taiga never would have guessed this was The Shadow he had grown so attached to over his first three months playing The World. 

He looked nothing like what Taiga imagined, gave off a considerably lack of charisma yet the bright hue (were they natural?  Or circle lenses?  He was the spitting image of his character, but there wasn’t a telltale shift to the brilliant shade of his irises when he glanced over Taiga’s form, either) of his eyes was enough to keep Taiga staring.  And staring.

Their fingers brushed when the shorter male bent down to help him pick up his cell phone.  When they exchanged glances, too, after they stand up to exchange introductions.

“I presume I’m right on target,” chuckled The Shadow, wry cadence belying the lack of any change in his expression, “what with the way you’re zoning out on me just like Tuesday’s Hero does right before a raid debriefing.”

“Maybe if you didn’t wait until every single person signs on,” Taiga grumbled out of habit — the same way he always did over Vent every time the issue arose, “we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“You’re probably right,” he says — the same way he had so many times before — and greeted Taiga with a sudden ninety-degree bow.  “I’m Kuroko Tetsuya, by the way.  The Shadow on The World’s Altaria server.  Nice to meet you.”

“Kagami Taiga.”  Perhaps Kuroko found it strange, to have Taiga hold his hand out in offering a Western-style handshake greeting, but his firm grip left no such impression.  “Tuesday’s Hero on the same server.  ‘Social Worker in-training by day, Knight by night’…oh, and on weekends too.  Nice to, uhhh, meet you too…I guess?” 

“Ever the talented word-weaver as I expected, I see.”  In spite of his rejoinder, Kuroko slid into the booth facing his tray.  “And yes, it’s nice to finally meet you as well, Kagami-kun.”

“Calling me that,” groused Taiga, self-conscious as he dropped back down at his side of the table with Kuroko’s stare on him, “sounds way too formal.  We’ve been communicating for almost four months now…and you call me all kinds of nicknames over Vent, ‘sides.”

“Fair enough.”  Placing his coat and monstrosity of a scarf beside him (another thing for Taiga to take note of about him: he was scrawny as hell but he didn’t feel the need to insulate himself even in this godforsaken cold), Kuroko blinked and declared: “Taiga-kun, then.”

“Y-You’re— seriously—”  Taiga hated how easily his face turned red, always beginning from the tips of his ears and flooding from the bridge of his nose outward.  “I didn’t mean we needed to be on first name basis!”

“I assumed you meant we were close enough for that.”  If he didn’t know the incredible tactician and sharp-tongued conversationalist beneath that innocuous baby face, eyes comically wide and owlish, Taiga would have pegged Kuroko for innocent.  Hah. Innocent.  Innocent, his ass.  “If it bothers you, then I’ll—”

“M-More importantly,” huffed Taiga, hiding his face behind a menu and shoving a free one in Kuroko’s direction, “let’s order some food already.  I’ve been waiting here since seven and, no offense, but I’m starving.  So just order whatever you want and I’ll pay for whatever you want.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you like this,” says Kuroko, the lilt in his game partner’s cadence alone making his grip on the edge of the menu tighten, “Taiga-kun.  I hope that after this weekend, you’ll feel comfortable enough to call me by my first name offline as well.”

“Oh, TOGCon, right?”  A mild hum of interest as Taiga lowered the menu, sidelong glance drawing his attention to the luggage Kuroko had dragged into Majiba with him— wait.  Luggage?! 

“Hold up.”  Shaking his head, Taiga looked back at Kuroko.  “You said you had something to give me when we met.  Is it in that giant thing?  Did you just get off the train— o-or— you didn’t check into the hotel yet?”  

“Not yet,” the blue-haired male smiled, the subtle motion changing his entire visage, and pushed an envelope over to Taiga’s side of the table.  “But since I have a pair of three-day admission tickets, I figured there was no need to rush over there without my ‘knight in light armor’ able to come with me.”

If they were in-game and controlling their avatars, Taiga’s Knight would have dropped its sword and fallen off its mount outright.

“Kuroko, you—!”

“I realize it’s quite an expensive gift to give someone I’m meeting for the first time.”  No kidding, Taiga mused, not sure whether to reach over the table and ruffle the kid’s hair in apology or in absolute glee.  Three day admission!  For a convention as prolific as TOGCon, even one ticket was difficult to acquire — and **expensive**.  “But I wanted to go with someone I knew I could enjoy myself with.  And, honestly…”

“Honestly?”  The lapse into casual speech unnerved and surprised Taiga. 

“Honestly, I’m a bit nervous about meeting up with my old guildmates.”  Those blue eyes darkened in hue.  Taiga couldn’t tell whether it was the fading sunlight’s effect at first, but the way Kuroko’s fist clenched over sapphire sleeves didn’t leave room for debate.  “Going alone isn’t the problem so much as not having someone around I can trust while I’m there.”

Someone to trust.  Taiga inhaled sharply, responsibility like lead leaning down on his closing eyelids. 

He knew that feeling all too well, thinking back to his high school years spent in America, surrounded by people he thought he could call ‘friends.’  The months spent cooking for their parties; the days spent after school delivering packages of unknown content to men behind old warehouses and at abandoned truck stops; the hours upon hours training his body, working out, practicing in the gym until the locker rooms doors’ automatic timers were minutes away from activating. 

The way he used to think bettering himself as a person would make others like him. 

The bitterness and the jaded periods and the anger. 

Anger he learned to channel and control, by holding a javelin and broadsword in-game, a mouse in real life, instead of a gun. 

“Okay,” Taiga sighed at length, no longer hesitating to lock eyes with Kuroko— no,Tetsuya, he sighed again, letting his gaze slip over this wizened man in the body of a boy, dressed as the kind of person he wanted to become for the weekend.  He could understand a bit better now just what kind of person The Shadow really was, sitting in front of him without a computer screen and an Internet connection to act as a medium.  “Then let me be that guy.  I’ll have your back and you’ll have mine.  We make great partners in The World, so…it shouldn’t be that different now that we’re face-to-face, yeah?” 

It was Tetsuya’s turn to be embarrassed — Tetsuya, who Taiga now understood better than some people he had known for years in real life— though the taller player caught a glimpse of his tiny grin before he hid behind the cover of Majiba’s menu. 

“Taiga-kun,” came the barely audible murmur from Tetsuya’s side of the table, “is really unfair.  You rely on my de-buffing and LR spells when we’re in the game, but having it happen the other way around is…”

“Well, think of it as a good thing.”  Taiga, in spite of his own sheepish cough-and-turn motion to hide his blush, managed to say.  “A little role-reversal never hurt anyone.”

“I’m not upset about it.”  When Tetsuya finally lowered the laminated leaflet, Taiga found himself awestruck by the intensity of his smile.  “I’m glad.  Glad we’re able to move out of our usual roles now that we’ve met and…glad we met, really.”

Taiga throws his menu at Tetsuya, not surprised at all that he was able to catch it.  They both played basketball back in middle school and Tetsuya’s quick reflexes transferring over to the real world were just another thing Taiga had to learn about his game partner.  His friend, he realized, now that they were properly acquainted.

A weekend at the convention of his dreams and finding out the person he met online was his perfect match in real life — Taiga decided right then and there, reaching over the table to ruffle Tetsuya’s hair (heh, his hair was just as soft and easy to mess up as it looked), that his offline life was indeed taking a turn for the better. 

From the looks of it, they could only get better from here.


	27. you light up my life | kurokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko/Kagami: in which group karaoke outings (or, in a certain hawk-eyed Shuutoku player's opinion, a group date for four not-quite couples) turn into a golden opportunity for everyone to try something new.

Amidst all the hubbub over Aomine and Kise’s creative rendition of a m-flo classic and Takao clamoring for someone to pick up the mic, no one notices Kuroko take the ‘stage’ until Midorima asks what song the oldest boy in the room wants next.

“9570, please.”  When the bespectacled teen glances at him in silent question, Kuroko adds, “I was looking through the song book while Kise-kun and Aomine-kun were up here before.”

“You weren’t paying attention to our performance?” Kise huffs as he sits back down, giving his best pout.  No dice.  Kuroko didn’t even flinch.  “Well, I guess it wasn’t our best, anyway.  Next turn, we’ll do a TegoMass duet!”

“You’ll do whatever that is by yourself, then,” Aomine quips, one friendly arm thrown around Kagami’s neck as he reaches for the chips again (which the redhead denies him, much to his dismay, pointing out that _you practically ate the whole bag already — let me have some, Piggymine!_ ) to no avail.  “Oh, but hang on— you picking an English song, Tetsu?  I thought all the 9000s were foreign songs.”

“Good point.  And speaking of— you want to sing with, Taiga?”  Himuro climbs over Kise to shove the other wireless microphone right under his nose.  “As per Kazu-kun’s karaoke rules, first come, first serve…but the second guy either gets the other mic or the tambourine.”

“Which you aren’t taking from me,” Midorima growls, ignoring Kise nudging Takao’s sides and Aomine’s sniggering at his reaction.  “It’s my lucky item for today, after all.”

Despite the dimmed lighting of the karaoke room, the widescreen television screen illuminates Kuroko’s wan smile. 

“I don’t mind if Kagami-kun wants to sing along, but I actually intended to sing this one myself.”  Then, a decibel louder: “I’ve been practicing this at home on my own.”

“Aaaaaaaaaaalright, **Kurokocchi!** “  The enthusiastic blond nearly sends their drinks flying as he leaps to his feet so quickly Kagami and Takao both scoot away from him further along the round-table booth.  “I bet your English is the best out of all of us native-borns here, so let’s hear it!”  Then, sheepish:  “No offense, Himurocchi.” 

“What about me, then?” Kagami mutters, cross, taking the candy Murasakibara offers while sitting to his left after some prompting.  “Hello?  Born and raised in SoCal, too, in case you guys forgot about me.”

“Like we could miss a big mouth like yours,” Midorima grouses, already inputting the number Kuroko gave him into the remote control.

“That’s what she said,” choruses Aomine and Takao — and Himuro — in unison.  The shooting guard and point guard hi-five while Touou’s power forward cackles so hard he nearly slumps under the table. 

“Why did I agree to any of this,” Kagami groans, more to himself than anyone, though he pauses to send them all his most intimidating glare.  “And how’d you all turn out to be the best of friends?”

Everyone jumps when the music’s introduction surges from the dual speakers, the piano instrumental startling the other seven players to redirect their attention. 

As soon as Kuroko starts singing, delicate tenor more soulful than one would expect from the quiet boy, Kagami realizes (grateful it’s dark enough here to hide how bright his face is turning) he **knows** this song.

“I don’t even listen to English songs,” Kise wails, clinging to Aomine’s arm (who looks perplexed even before the small forward settles down next to him with his vice grip), “but this is the sweetest one I’ve ever _heard_.”

“And based on how little accent he’s singing it with, he wasn’t kidding about how much he practiced it.”  Takao whistles.  He leans over a stunned Midorima to stage-whisper to Himuro, frowning: “What’s he singing about, though?” 

“Well,” Himuro practically sparkles, grinning over how emphatically Kuroko sings the chorus — _you give me hope to carry on_ — and notes that there might have been more than a few hidden meanings to the song the shadow chose. “To start with, it’s definitely a love song.  It’s about waiting for someone the singer meets and eventually falls for because the other person’s like his ligh—”

“ _Tatsuya_ ,” Kagami all but squeaks, forehead slammed onto the table in mortification, “don’t say anything else about the song, for the love of all things basketball-related, or I swear to _god_ —”

“AND YOUUUUUUUUUUUU LIGHT UP MY LIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE…”

“—Or you ‘swear to god’ what?” Himuro prompts cheerfully, while the enthusiastic chorus formed by Takao, Aomine, and Kise provide Kuroko much (un)needed background vocals. Murasakibara’s takes out his cell phone to wave it in the air.  Midorima even starts swaying by the third line of the refrain, tapping his tambourine to the beat of the song.  “You’ll join in on the singing and make it a duet?  Sing a song about how you’ve finally found your beloved shadow?  C’mon, Taiga, don’t leave a guy hanging.”

“I swear to god, I hate you all,” Kagami says as he buries his face in his hands, though not before Kuroko gestures in his direction as he lilts his way to the end of the second verse ( _finally, a chance to say ‘hey, I love you’; never again to be all alone_ ) and stares unblinking at the boy standing in front of the landscape photos panning across the TV screen. “I hate you all so _much_.”


	28. heaven (on earth) | kisekaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kise/Kagami: in which years of experience have taught Kise that the best way to get along in a relationship is by saying "whatever you want" to the person he holds nearest and dearest to his heart.

“Three sugars and milk,” Kagami’s voice drifts from the kitchen, “in your coffee, Kise?”

Damp head laid facefirst against the armrest and aching legs from his five-hour shoot propped on the sofa cushions, Kise’s halfhearted weary wave of his hand should speak for itself. 

He expects the usual quip of _don’t make me turn around while I’m cooking dinner or at least make **some** kinda noise_ from Kagami but he doesn’t expect hands to start kneading out the stiff coils in his shoulders, doesn’t expect the flickering luminance that ignites at the soft kisses laid at the nape of his neck (like candlelight, he thinks, when he shifts just enough to meet Kagami’s gaze and offer a weary smile in return) any more than he can mirror the wry quirk of the redhead’s lips brush as he catches his breath, catches him by surprise.

“Whatever you’re having,” answers Kise, not out of ambivalence but because he means it (always) wherever his lover’s many indulgences - material and immaterial - are concerned.  “You’re sweet enough to me as it is.”


	29. i'll melt you down | aomomo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aomine/Momoi, pre-relationship: in which Momoi wants ice cream and the only one who doesn't feel frozen is Aomine.

He looks surprised, at least, when she finds him walking home alone and grabs him by the collar to all but yank him back toward the school gates.

“What,” he manages through a choked wheeze, “the hell, Satsuki?”

It’s Daiki’s biggest mistake: it’s the slight turn of his head, the sidelong glance, that elicits a settling warmth at the pit of his stomach because _she’s smiling_ , happier than he’s ever seen her in months, the effortless kind displayed more often when they were young and played tag with the neighborhood kids, when they were back in their first year at Teikou and everything felt so new, leaning shoulder to shoulder where the bedroom walls met the edge of Daiki’s bed staying up late talking the hours away, and while he hasn’t the slightest clue what it means, a soft quirk to his lips flickering unbidden at the sight he keeps buried from the rest of the team at practice unfurls in a hurry at the sight of his childhood friend so elated, settling down only after she clutches his arm and tucks herself against his side, a welcome fondness and soft familiarity to the gesture because they’ve known each other far too long to feel anything but comfort in closeness, though it’s not quite the intimacy longed for every other weekday but as long as she’s happy, Daiki decides, as long as Satsuki’s happy—

“Let’s stop by the ice cream parlor on the way back,” enthuses Satsuki, pale tendrils brushed back with a practiced wave of her wrist and the tug at his sleeve growing all the more insistent as she pulls him along down the path from Touou to the city outskirts, “Dai-chan.”

And, like everything that’s impossible to say no to where Satsuki’s concerned, melting off into the cesspool of his many unfulfilled wishes, Daiki gives in.


	30. hold me in your arms | kiyofuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiyoshi/Furihata: in which there are advantages to having a senpai who gladly serves as a very warm and receptive boyfriend and Furihata, like any good kouhai, doesn't mind being spoiled.

It’s always been a matter of propriety.

It doesn’t matter who he has his eyes on.  The number one rule: don’t stare at someone amazing for more than ten seconds.  People that brilliant don’t deserve your stare.  People that amazing deserve their space, personal space, and you don’t want to intrude upon that.  Or so he tells himself.

Except calling Kiyoshi-senpai ‘amazing’ doesn’t even cover the half of it. 

Sometimes, Kouki wonders.  If he hadn’t ended up passing the physical and practical test that got him on Seirin’s basketball team, where would his feelings have gone?  Toward a girl who didn’t even know he existed, most likely.  That was how it started out, seeking acknowledgement, longing for some greater sense of belonging. 

He found more than enough of that with Seirin; his teammates were all amazing people in their own right and he thrives in their presence.  His senpai, especially, diamonds in the rough polished by circumstance and the heat of determination until they shine.

To him, Kiyoshi-senpai is a living star.

No, not a star.  Stars are young, immature, capricious presences — and there’s more than enough equivalents in the nighttime sky.  Kiyoshi-senpai is unparalleled, an ace among aces, so he’s much more like a supernova. 

Luminous and pure, a momentary existence that shimmers and flashes like the buzzer that sounds out in the last second of a game — saves them at times when they need a pillar of strength above all else.  

Kouki stares longer than he should at Kiyoshi-senpai.

He’s fascinated by the older boy.  A bit envious of his size, of his build.  Kouki can’t compare to that.  Then again, there’s times when he thinks it’s alright not to be that tall or that strong, to have to be looked up to every time someone speaks to you, to have the world’s balance burdening your shoulders. 

But his arms and legs — where tendons meet muscles and the skin stretches tight over unparalleled strength — are what Kouki likes most about his senpai. 

Especially when they’re wrapped around him, cradling him and keeping him encased in warmth, keeping the cold out because Kiyoshi-senpai’s coat is big enough to cover his entire upper body and insulate them both. 

Especially when they’re alone and large palms chase away the anxiety worrying its way into his frazzled nerves, easing the insecurities aside with their firm hold. 

Especially when he sees the gentleness behind Kiyoshi-senpai’s focused stare, hears the whimsical tone to Kiyoshi-senpai’s clear baritone laughter, feels the strength and tenderness behind Kiyoshi-senpai’s hands on him and can’t help but laugh a bit too, knowing this is everything he could have ever (never knew) wanted.


	31. espionage | kisekasa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kise/Kasamatsu, in a AU setting where all the schools contain not basketball players but hitmen with a cause: of the importance of keeping a low profile and covering one's heart as well as one's tracks.

Yukio knows why they always let their guard down.

It’s not just the pretty face.  His partner’s overall appearance, certainly, plays into it; handsome, model-esque, catlike - he’s heard the outliers as much as the common threads, perhaps even more than the one who’s being talked about has, even.

But the funniest part about it to the senior agent is that _they have no idea_.

Don’t take your eyes off him, Yukio wants to remind them before they get an elbow in their face and a gun pressed to their head, unless you’ve got a death wish.

Don’t get distracted by the nice guy aura, Yukio thinks while he sends several lackeys sprawling into the nearby wall, spinning around to find Ryouta thumbing through the now-unconscious ringleader’s wallet for clues to the drug ring’s next warehouse stop, or you’ll regret underestimating him.

“Looks like we’ve got something,” Ryouta says brightly, like he didn’t just knock out a bunch of druglord lackeys in fourteen seconds flat.  “A business card for Kamikawa’s Incorporated.  There’s a number for their factory office here, too.”  He shrugs off the hair net (come to think of it, where’d his wig go?  Unless the piercings guy from earlier that yanked his black ‘hair’ off was the same one Yukio roundhouse kicked and shot down near simultaneously— in which case.)  “Think it’s worth checking out?”

“A dead trail’s as good as any trail.”  Yukio grouses, though his mood lightens considerably when his gloved hand finds a cell phone in a lackey’s inner coat pocket.  Perfect.  “We’ll call it up and see what happens, I guess.  Good work.”

“I think I deserve a little more than **that** ,” Ryouta frowns, features settling into what could be the start of a pout, “after getting us in here without anyone catching us, senpai.”

The soft bark of laughter rings out in the silent basement, bouncing back  just before he pockets a key and ledger (better safe than sorry) from the henchmen and strides over to pull Ryouta down by the tie for a hard kiss.

“You did a damn good job, then.”  For his part, Yukio’s never quite fooled by that pretty face entirely; it’s easier said than done, but he’s learned how not to give into the younger agents whims all the time.  Every rule has an exception, though.  “But next time, less collateral damage and a little faster on the backup.  We’ll talk about a reward for that once we’re back in the car.”

For his part, Yukio feels nothing less than proud when Ryouta nods, sage, and practically skips off to retrieve his gun from floor.  Proud, but never lets his guard down. 

In another minute, they’ll be good as gone - but for now, focus. 

Focus on what grounds you, he recalls from countless training and distant target practice sessions, and you’ll be able to handle anything by instinct alone.  Instinct, which he’s struggled with the finer workings of, struggled to make his to command.

Yukio shuts his eyes, meditative.  Recalls the press of Ryouta’s palm in his, the reverence warm in Ryouta’s gaze, the sensory lapse in lost control that draws out a sharp inhale. 

Calls Ryouta back over, who returns to his side at a single nod.

(For the moment, Yukio exhales, brings his focus back to their assignment and all the miles they still need to cover tonight before they can call into HQ to check in - and silent into the night they go.)  


	32. my oh my | prince!kuroko/servant!kagami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko/Kagami: in which Crown Prince Kuroko recalls why his choice of a personal attendant - in more ways than one - was the best choice he could have ever made.

Taiga was but a boy when they brought him - along with all the other prospect personal attendants - into the palace grounds before the emperor’s son, equally as young but not entirely inexperienced. 

Time and again, the silent prince’s parents went with their trusted Cabinet members to settle the political conflicts cropping up all over the prefecture.  Though they never were seen, everyone regardless of social status knew the esteemed Emperor and Empress’s influence. 

From the shadows, they ruled — and so the Imperial Palace earned its widespread nickname by the middle class: Kage-jou, the home of the Shadow Emperor, Empress, and their only son, Tetsuya. 

Tetsuya was known far and wide as an unremarkable heir to the throne.  He had been since childhood when, according to the many tales told of those days, his presence was so unnoticeable that the servants lost sight of him for hours before noticing he wasn’t in the garden any longer.  They found him by nightfall at the City library, a location that no one had considered before.

The Crown Prince — who loved philosophy, reading, and sneaking outside the palace walls to linger among the denizens of the City, occasionally with a stray dog or cat in tow — was the most unusual the kingdom’s ever known.

So it was no less unusual to the cooks, the messengers, the cleaning servants, and the scribes alike when Tetsuya chose Taiga out of all the capable farmhands and slaves brought all the way from foreign shores.

So it was no less unusual to the dressers, the soldiers, and the townsfolk who worked odd jobs and ran shops and stands in the marketplace square that wherever the Crown Prince went on his weekly excursions into the City, Taiga was never too far behind.

So it was no less unusual to all those who saw them - from those tepid and awkward moments of boyhood, banter exchanged back and forth in equal measure, to the tender and subtle signs of nearing adulthood, easing into a measured pace where both were at ease followed or led - that they grew up the same way.

Naturally — inevitably — together. 

———

“Come in,” says Tetsuya to the familiar three-fold knock at his bedchambers’ door, returning to studying the scrolls upon scrolls of war details both won and lost by previous dynasties.  

“You’re still reading those dusty old things?”  He doesn’t turn to greet his visitor, but Taiga nevertheless tumbles into the tucked-in covers of his bed.  “—Hang on.  Did this thing just sink in on me?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it did.”  Tetsuya allows himself a wan smile, returning his inking brush back to its decorative holder.  “Considering the amount of food the cooks tell me you’ve been consuming after evening duties…you’ll break the bed frame jumping like that, Kagami-kun.”  

Taiga scoffs, though he eases back more gently on the down-filled mattress with a muted grunt. 

“I don’t eat that much.  Maybe you just don’t eat enough.”

“Or maybe you just eat too much.” 

Tetsuya rises from his chair at length, turning to see Taiga kicking off his shoes and outer robes, making himself comfortable in the Crown Prince’s bed. 

With his outer robes askew, down to his underclothes, Taiga looked much less like the formal personal attendant attire he donned as per royal custom.  He looked much more like a prince himself to Tetsuya, unruly shock of red hair and penchant for lackadaisical behavior aside. 

No one in the kingdom could deny that the restless and rebellious servant who would put up his fists to anyone foolish enough to misspeak around Tetsuya had grown into an attractive young man, rough features softened over the course of time. 

He was still naive, in some senses, to the way the world outside the kingdom worked — but that gentle heart of his made for an excellent personal attendant, someone who gladly devoted himself to a worthy cause, protecting and comforting the Prince in his times of need more than the royal army ever could.

Of course, they both knew the same applied vice-versa as well; when Taiga, in his earliest days of adjusting to his new surroundings, Tetsuya was the one who acted as his protector as well as his friend. 

It may have seemed unusual to those around who observed them, perhaps.  But then again, it was no less unusual than the Crown Prince’s choice in Taiga as a servant. 

“Kagami-kun.”  Tetsuya’s steps were muted against the carpet, quieter still as they drew closer to his bedside where Taiga laid back waiting for him.  “I have Humanities in the morning with Midorima-sensei.  And there’s a consort meeting for us in the afternoon.”  The hand that carded through his hair, fingers mussing the neatly laid strands, were warm enough to make Tetsuya shiver.  “We’ll need to come back before sunrise if we don’t want to be caught.”

“They won’t catch us,” laughs Taiga against his throat, as though the very thought were preposterous.  “Kise’ll vouch for us if we need him to.  He owes you his life for taking him in and proving his innocence at the hearing.  And you know one more little white lie’s like nothing to him.” 

Tetsuya, against all his better judgement, thinks he might just be right.  Their nightly excursions into the City were carefully planned matters.  Even if they were indeed caught clambering over the castle walls, they had friends in high and low places, after all. 

Kise, who’s devotion to the Crown Prince knew no bounds.  Midorima, who protected them ever since they began this arrangement, and his consort Takao as well.  Aomine, a friend in more than just name, for all his purported complaints.  Momoi, too, though her knowledge of all the happenings in the palace were downright dangerous.  Murasakibara, for all his halfhearted complaints, and Himuro, who’s brotherhood with Taiga made Tetsuya like a brother by default.  Akashi, who held the City in the palm of his hand. 

“I suppose,” concedes Tetsuya — pressing his servant, **his** servant, back against the pillows, reaching under Taiga’s underclothes until the taller boy keens and sinks back against him, clutching at his arm hard enough to bruise.  “Unless you’d like to stay within the palace tonight while we do a bit of…’exploring’ around here.” 

“And people think I’m the one,” breathes Taiga with his lips grazing the dip of Tetsuya’s wrist, “who takes advantage of you.”

“They’re not entirely wrong, either.”  The way that Taiga unfolds beneath him, letting Tetsuya remove him of shirt and pants with eager and purposeful hands, that makes him think otherwise, however.  “But what happens between us is really none of their business, is it, _Taiga_?”


	33. thieves are not breathing down your neck | aokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aomine/Kagami, in an AU setting where both are thieves: in which Aomine's partner-in-crime means more than any treasures in the entire city - and he damn well knows it.

They have three rules and three rules only.

The first: search, forage, and raid.  It’s as simple as that.  No hesitation.  No lingering any longer than they have to. 

Experience is nothing if not effective with his partner in crime.

The second: Taiga — who’s learned to keep up with him, whose past led him to traveling with Daiki in the first place, whohad such a natural _instinct_ for treasure-hunting and combat — needed to be able to look after himself. 

Daiki knew he could, too, from sparring with him countless times before when they were running on the high of a successful run, so unsettled with their own elation that sleep in any forest clearing campsite was near impossible. 

Tonight was one of those nights. 

So they stay awake until the stars dim out and the sun peers out from behind the distant hillsides and, instead of talking (they do plenty of that during the day, crass jokes and playful repartee exchanged even while they’re up against a rival guild at least thrice as many as the two of them, taking them down with practiced ease), they fight. 

They fight to shake off the restlessness inside them, to keep each other in check.  If a few egos get bruised in the process, so be it.  Taiga could take it and Daiki— well, if it was something he said unthinking earlier, then he probably deserved it, anyway.

That was part of their third rule: don’t pull punches.

An unrestrained punch or two.  A nick to the redhead’s cheekbone, returned in equal measure with a hard kick to Daiki’s side. They fight each other the same way they would any asshole trying to steal their gil because he thinks he’s entitled to what they claimed first. 

And if either one of them started getting soft on the other, then it was a sign something was heavy on their minds that needed a listening ear (and a good fistfights) to alleviate.

It’s the first time, though, that — after they finish letting out all their excess energy on each other — Taiga leans on him at the cusp of daylight, rests his head on his shoulder, and falls asleep while they’re lying out by the campfire catching their breath.

The exchange of body heat, the ragged inhale and slow but steady exhale against the cleft of his shoulder, the way he held onto the taller man’s waist like he was a human-sized pillow. 

It was just like that time some asshole pulled a knife on Taiga in a street fight over claim on what should have been their haul and Daiki had to carry him all the way to the cleric on the other side of town.  He tried to settle both their singing nerves (because that was a ton of blood Taiga was losing and, no matter if Daiki had wrapped his shirt around the incision and would gladly stitch him up himself if his partner couldn’t make it there) with off-color jokes until they were both laughing as they came up to the entrance of the church. 

But Taiga had mumbled something as they were lying him down to fix him up, something about how Daiki was so **warm** , pleasantly so to the point where he didn’t want to let him go.  It took Daiki shutting him up and helping the apprentices settle him down with a Sleep spell so they could leave the cleric to Heal and Mend the lacerated skin.

Nothing was more of a comfort to Daiki that night when Taiga regained consciousness — how he knew his partner would be fine from the timid clench of his hand squeezing Daiki’s back and the tired quirk of his lips as he opened his eyes at long last to Daiki hovering over him.

 _Had a nice nap, Little Tiger?_   He’d been teasing Taiga with that nickname since as long as they’d known each other; it always made Taiga grumble and huff and pout, though he’d never admit it was an endearment his partner (who never gave up on a treasure when he had faith he could reach it down in the catacombs, who was as polite as anyone could be with their clients despite their choice occupations, who stood by him even when Daiki’s resolve and passion waned, saw him at his worst and couldn’t leave him alone any sooner than Daiki could Taiga) truly did deserve. 

At the time, all Taiga could manage was a weary _shut up_ and a halfhearted whack to his forearm in reply.

(Tonight, Daiki decides, they could always add another unspoken rule: whatever Taiga wants, Taiga gets.  Daiki’s always been terrible at saying no where his partner was concerned — back then and tonight — so they might as well make it official.)


	34. i always will | kagahimu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kagami/Himuro: of opportunities long lost and the bitter aftertaste that burns even now.

Theirs is a story told in retrospective; the ending serves as the beginning and the real end is nowhere in sight.

Taiga remembers more than he means to forget. 

Sometimes, it’s the recollection over a good talk - table space separating, paces in tandem notwithstanding, weekends spent sleeping over his apartment - and the inevitable _remember when_ s to follow.  Sometimes, it’s the forgotten memories - the instances, moments, scrapbook pages and photos extracted in Alex’s suitcase - of better, younger days where even faceless faces smiled in the background. 

Sometimes, it’s in the regret - the brief flashes of envy, of sympathy, reflected in Tatsuya’s forced smiles whenever their chats take a veering one-eighty into darker realm of repressed emotions - and the understanding that comes with it.

Taiga forgets the more he means to remember.

It’s the accidental brushes, mostly.  The slightest shift in tension, in comfort level, when he gets too close.  The barest hint of shifting gazes, of fleeting fingertips tracing the veins protruding along his wrist as he adjusts Taiga’s wristband, the quiet stare that reminds him of the past when he too looked that way.  The woven-wool sweaters over eyes slammed shut, even when the truth never leaves his sight. 

The old desires, the childlike mentality.  The wishing, the wanting.  Like poison, falling from a broken vial, long after the smoke-tinged waxen remains of a former flame burnt out. 

(Then — perhaps, perhaps.  But now, no longer.  Not the same as back then.  What he left behind back then, he never expected to get back, had no intention of returning to that time. 

Given the chance?  Perhaps, perhaps.  And yet.  He hesitates over the very thought, at the very notion. 

But perhaps.)

Someday, they would talk everything over properly.

Everything, Taiga thinks, began and ended with that ring; promises meant to be broken, mistaken identities and misguided idolization.  They could start from there, at the common point of departure before the moving train took off before he could help Tatsuya onto it.  Before their futures, divergent, hid away when it was time to divulge.  Before they were — brothers.

Before the fork in the road brought them on separate journeys.  Before they became friends, rivals, brothers, estranged acquaintances, and back to (repeat) the beginning of the cycle again. 

Before Tatsuya, he was a different person.  Taiga tries to remember, tries to see beyond the void of shadows and light, and grasps at rusted metal before he falls back into the pillows.   

Someday, he thinks, perhaps they can go back to being different people who just happen to cross paths; so long as it was what Tatsuya wanted, Taiga would go back to the beginning, gladly. 

The beginning of the end or the end of the beginning?  The poison or the poisoning?  Both instances prove one leads into another, melding into an unrecognizable entity. 

Perhaps they could become the same way.

Together, yet separate.  Connected, yet detached.  As one, yet not quite the same — certainly not as they were before.

(Youth, hope, happiness: all like poison, all dangerous if left unchecked.  All dangerous when love once mutual joins the concoction.  Like running with scissors, like kindling near a flame hazard, like all the makings for some natural disaster waiting to happen.)

Taiga remembers more than he’d like to forget, but - perhaps, perhaps - the end is closer than it appears.


	35. beat the summer heat | aokaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aomine/Kagami: in which, even after living together for three months (and counting), they still can't keep from doing the same old song and dance.

“Remember when Kise nearly burned down the apartment when he tried to cook dinner for us?”

“Do I remember or do I want to remember?  ‘Cause, y’know, there’s a _pretty big difference_.”

“Good point.  Which reminds me.  Remember when Tetsu—”

“—burned through all our eggs trying to cook breakfast for us?”

“That’s creepy — you knew what I was gonna say?”

“Just a good guess.”

“You say good guess.  I say we’re finally at the point where we’re finishing each other’s sentences.”

“…We’ve been living in the same apartment together for three months now, dumbass.  So we’d better be that close.”

“Not close enough, if you ask me.

“Except no one was asking—  Holy shit, your hands are ice cold!  And how’d you get from the couch to the kitchen so fast?”

“Remember that time I beat you by two and a half seconds to the water fountain last week?”

“Remember when I told you I didn’t care?”

“—‘Cause I like watching you make stuff in the kitchen.”

“…Come again?”

“You heard me.  Dammit, don’t make me say it again—”

“—I heard you, though.  Like I can hear you chewing ice right near my ear right now.”

“…Cat’s out of the bag, huh.”

“You’re…kinda obvious, so yeah.  Plus, remember?  Good guess.”

“Okay, fine.  Then — without turning around — guess what I’m thinking about right now.”

“C’mon, like that’s hard to figure o— **oh**.”

“ _Exactly_.”


	36. they don't know you like i do | kiseao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kise/Aomine: in which domesticity does not equate to definitive happiness but - at the very least - they know one another well enough to let it be.

When they ask, he says nothing.

Ryouta’s gotten good at it, too.  The art of deception is a curious thing, a matter of propriety rather than a conscious decision; the longer he wears the masks, the quicker the shifting tones come naturally. 

A faint lilt here, a languid gesture of noncommittal dismissal later, they’re all fooled. 

Even he’s fooled, now, going on with the charade in front of the makeup artists who beckon for his compliance and the paparazzi trail after him for his defiance and the fans who — no matter how wayward his path through the city — never fail to find him.

When he’s home at last, he’s glad that Daiki’s the only one who doesn’t ask questions.

Not anymore, anyway.  Maybe in their preteen years, the junior high juvenile romps and the periods where they’d waltz around the subject of attachment and affection.  Maybe back in high school, back when distance was the name of the game and they chose different roads accidentally on purpose, wagering on senseless pride and bruised egos to get them through alone.  Maybe before the brief affairs with college credits before dropping out, the brief encounters on the street when they’d forget, again and again, to exchange new cell numbers before parting ways.  Maybe, Ryouta imagines, that might have brought on the questions.

Maybe then, Ryouta thinks as Daiki opens his arms at the quiet sigh in response to _how was your day_ and sinks into the only warmth that takes him as he is, they would have been different.

(But then again, if they hadn’t taken the risk — to live together after years apart, to try again after struggling to get their individual careers in order — they wouldn’t have learned to love one another to the point that they can’t imagine a life without.)


	37. the only one i come undone for is you | prince!furihata/servant!akashi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Furihata/Akashi, in an AU setting where Akashi is a newly crowned Prince Furihata's servant: on the matters of servitude, social rank, and surrender.

They called him damaged goods, a heretic among slaves, a barefoot boy with his head held too high, but Kouki is a Prince who thinks Seijuurou much more valuable than any rare jewel.

Expectation.  It’s the first word — the only word — which arises to Kouki’s mind when his sixteenth birthday arrives.  Expectation to take over in ruling the kingdom, in joining neighboring lands together through new alliances, in finding a suitable bride to take on as his future queen.  Expectation upon expectation, Kouki knows, which he does not feel anything but filial obligation toward.

Expectations which, from the moment Seijuurou sneaks from the servant’s quarters into his bedchambers to curl up beneath the covers beside him, a single glance from his diamond-sharp slave turned personal attendant could shatter at once.

He adores Seijuurou’s capriciousness, his frequent displays of erudite knowledge few servants could stake claim to or recite with the same level of effortlessness. 

He adores that Seijuurou does not always agree with him, will argue with him tit for tat if he feels an arrangement or diplomatic choice disagreeable — and, for all the years Kouki has known him, has never once been wrong. 

He adores, far more than any Crown Prince ought to, the stabilizing presence Seijuurou provides, the constant company of a loyal vassal and a **friend** , something Kouki imagined impossible outside the confines of this palace he’s inherited, this legacy he’s bound to by familial loyalty and law, from a young and tender age. 

(Adores, in persisting measure and despite his better judgment, the warmth of Seijuurou’s mouth on his, the firm grasp of anchoring palms lying taut, clutching, grasping at the taller one’s shoulder blades to the same rhythm of his canting hips as he remarks, just short of breathless, that _there’s no other who I would allow to rule over me other than you, my King, none other than you_.)


	38. holding tight and never letting go (nsfw) | takao/midorima

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takao/Midorima: of power and control (and perhaps a bit of something like love).

These bindings more than lived up to their name.

Midorima couldn’t see past the blindfold at the moment but if he had to guess from the rough-smooth texture against his skin, it was probably a belt.  Probably of moderate length, based on how many times it could wind around his wrists.  There were two wrapped around both his ankles, too, fastened to the bedframe poles likely keeping his legs pulled apart.

If he didn’t already have an inkling of who took advantage of his vulnerable position while he dozed off earlier this afternoon, Midorima would be fuming.

Anger was the last thing on his mind.  Really.  It was exasperation he felt when the owner of familiar hands pressed persistent at his once-prone form and made him sit up on his knees, ghosting past jutting hipbones, circling smooth calves and anchoring aching ankles.  It was exasperation, too, that marked the sensation of such fleeting touches - holding him down, coaxing his cheek back down to rest on the body pillow laid out not moments before, trusting he would understand without a verbal exchange.

The oddest thing of it was that he **did**.

He did feel at ease like this, at the mercy of tantalizingly slow ministrations and whisper-soft mouthing against the flesh over tense tendons and ligaments.  He felt almost comforted by such delicate treatment, lulled by not the full body massage from earlier or the careful caresses now but something caught along a delicate balance: his partner couldn’t mask this with any number of silk or straps, not when every touch was tinged with desire unadulterated and a coveted sort of care for his partner. 

He should have protested more, made more noise than just a soft gasp of assent at the dip of those playful hands heading down from his navel and a startled exhale at the moist pressure easing into him ( _Takao_ , the name fell past his parted lips; the brief kiss over the grooves of his backbone answered, as expected, _I know_ ), but without the aid of visual perception and a means to reciprocate, it was all Midorima could do to stay still and let his shadow do what he did best: take his orders to heart and follow his lead.


	39. touch me and then turn away (nsfw) | kise/hybrid!kagami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kise/Kagami: in which Kagami is a cat-human hybrid living in a world of Pets and Masters and there's some discrepancy for Kise as to who deserves the collar around their neck, in the end.

From the moment he saw those wild eyes and the soft curl to those catlike doberman ears to this waking moment of pure carnal bliss, Ryouta remained stubbornly in love.

They called them PETs, the model knew, but he’s never been able to think of Taiga as anything less than a companion.  Genetic experimentation can be an ugly thing these days, producing all kinds of cross-species that turn on their owners in an instant. 

He supposed it had everything to do with the way they were treated, though; if you treat a living thing as if it’s subordinate, then of course it would rebel. 

A natural reaction, really, to control freaks and abusive masters taking out their daily frustrations on thinking and breathing individuals they consider “sluts” and “slaves.”

To Ryouta, Taiga deserved nothing less than reverence.

Those strong arms, the kind which emanate feral strength and unbridled potential. Those muscled calves, flexing and compensating for their current position: braced against the wall, rocking into Ryouta’s shaking grip, every slick sound of their adjoined bodies meeting and parting made his long tail wrap ever tighter around his owner’s waist, low mewls and keening gasps a clear indication that he hardly minded this. 

Hundreds upon hundreds of other hybrids were displayed in that warehouse beneath the PET store and none of them ever made Ryouta’s heart stop, resuscitate itself, and hover along a staccato line of beats like Taiga had.

And as the water rains down on them, Ryouta realized that it wasn’t just his physical prowess that attracted him so much.  Never once had Taiga refused him, never once pulled away or told him he wasn’t in the mood (because he always was; it made Ryouta wonder, sometimes, if it was his breed or his natural libido or a bit of both), and the flickering glow to those vermillion hues were much less frightening than they were brilliant, a touch shy of pretty and reflecting in the shower door glass briefly.  It was the same look that stole his heart in the first place, the same look that flashed in Taiga’s gaze before he marked his pet from the inside out, who clawed at the tiled walls and let out a shuddering sigh, the feeling of Taiga tightening around him enough to make them both slump back against the tiled walls with the sharp scent of sated pleasure damp around them.

(When Ryouta towels him off, almost ten minutes after they regained footing and remembered how to breathe again, Taiga nestles back into his waiting arms with a satisfied purr and his owner decides that for all intensive purposes, it isn’t Taiga who deserves the collar around his neck but _him_.)


	40. steal some covers, share some skin (nsfw) | kiseao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kise/Aomine: in which Aomine loves lazy Sundays - in no small part, of course, because of who he gets to spend those lazy Sundays with.

It was no secret Daiki liked lazy summer Sundays.

Free time to sleep in and lounge around the house? Check. Free access to the fridge and the ice pops in the freezer? Check. Free reign over every room in the house, since all his work stayed at the station and, this Sunday in particular, no scheduled noncommercial flights on account of the upcoming holiday?

Ah, which brings us to the main reason Daiki liked Sundays the best out of any day of the week.

The city knew the name Kise Ryouta for any number of reasons. He was a model (on extended hiatus for reasons his agency refused to divulge, not that the reasons were particular important to his loyal fans), a pilot-for-hire (non-commercial flights were his specialty, though his clients ranged from international stars to rich tourists wanting a tour of the city skyline), and a former pre-professional basketball player (the Generation of Miracles, now a household name, were more well known than ever as the years passed and boys became men living somewhat ordinary lives apart from basketball, aside from the occasional annual weekend meet-up or weeklong basketball retreat sponsored by their former captain), and - for all practical purposes - the only member of the prestigious team who eluded understanding.

No one saw this side of Ryouta, present only on lazy Sundays off or under the swath of moonlight at one in the morning at his lover’s request.

No one needed to know, Daiki thinks idly, the ways in which Ryouta was much less eager and puppylike (no chance of getting the blond to fall back on the bed today, legs spread and belly bared, anticipating) and _much_ more catlike (crawling over Daiki’s reclined form on the couch, pawing at his sleeveless tank with one hand and the other, insistent, holding down his wrists to pin them to the armrest), much more demanding and forthright than anyone would expect.

No one needed to know, Daiki thought dimly, too distracted by the wandering palm reaching around the nape of his neck to pull him forward (the grip on his restrained hands never loosening; Ryouta wasn’t the only one who had kept up with a stable exercise routine since graduating from basketball, but it was far too hot for struggling and Daiki secretly enjoyed being looked after, besides, and he had every bit of faith Ryouta would take care of him like always) the way that Ryouta kisses him, the way their bodies slide and don’t quite fit together, slow and hard and with a resonance that runs deeper than their history, their victories and defeats, the past’s closed doors and the future’s opportunities left wide open.

No one needed to know the way Ryouta teases him - drawls languid love letters along the lines of his spine with lilting hums and a clever tongue dancing across the crevices between clavicle and chin, delving into the dip between upper thigh and below as he lies back and lifts his knees over Ryouta’s shoulders, and it’s suddenly enough to sigh, shudder, stop thinking and just **feel** , letting the hazy heat settle over them and almost ready to open his fluttering eyes just enough to see the look on Ryouta’s face, no doubt pleased with the way Daiki unfolds and unfurls beneath his hold.

(It was no secret Daiki’s favorite day of the week was Sunday. But as for why? Well, that was his little secret secret - his beloved and little tease of a lover’s secret - alone.)


	41. pretty face (nsfw) | kagaaka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kagami/Akashi: on analogous colors which blend, ties that bind, and what bathtubs built for two probably weren't intended to be used for.

The water glows luminescent beneath them, bathroom tiles away from the bathtub gleaming from their sudsy wash, but all Seijuurou can see is  _red_.

Anywhere else, he imagines, this would be unacceptable.  Anywhere but here, alone in this sprawling estate, the guest bedquarters strictly deemed off-limits by the young master himself. 

Of course, the maids in waiting will not ask; of course, the butlers and stablehands and gardeners alike know just as well not to, either. 

If there’s any logic to be questioned, what with Akashi-sama himself away on business, it comes in the form of furtive whispers when Seijuurou turns around corners — hushed fragmented conversations, wondering _what sort of relations_ ; _if the main household should know, there would be an outcry for excommunication_ ; _perhaps if Koujirou-sama imposed less limits on his son, he wouldn’t feel so_ _ashamed to have to hide such a thing._

Foolish, foolish naysayers.  They’re quite wrong, besides.  Shame is the least of his concerns, least of all right now.

Right now, least of all, when he’s focused on what lies before him.

The sleek muscle pliant beneath his searching fingertips, heated skin cast in sanguine blooms.  When teeth graze over tongue, biting down after a moment’s reprieve, the other flinches — but he does not pull away from Seijuurou, not like before.  Beneath the tepid water’s surface, the taller boy’s palm settles on the small of his back and urges him closer, the slow drift sliding their bodies back together with a churning want that unsettles them both. 

There’s _red_ , Seijuurou realizes, everywhere.

There’s red of his eyes and the red that marks along the slope of those broad shoulders and the swollen edge of his mouth, almost smiling mouth, now, as he stares up at the smaller male easing himself onto his lap — matching his gasp, the telltaletwitch of his upper thigh, the slosh of water spilling over the edge. 

There’s red, beneath heterochromatic hues sliding shut instantaneous to Seijuurou lowering himself onto him again without warning, knowing full well that several rounds later hardly abates the initial twinge, the surging ache that accompanies such pleasure, the difference in their build made all the more apparent like this. 

There’s a kind of soft red to his sudden tenderness, to the hand that brushes away red bangs from his forehead as Seijuurou rests his head down, all but slumps against his heaving chest and shudders.  Shudders, but dares not pull away.  Not from this source of warmth, canting just enough to spark a reaction (a sound, Seijuurou will later deny, that was most assuredly a whine; as if the quiet noise elicited were his own, the other redhead laughs, almost sheepish, murmurs something incomprehensible and breathless over the pink tinge of his earlobe before gently biting down), testing his patience.

“ _Taiga_ ,” Seijuurou speaks, a reverberation pressed against the line of his throat, knee digging into the side of the tub briefly before Taiga’s hands — hands large enough to hold, strong enough to brace him and tug him further out of the water with him, all but carrying the weight of him — catch him before he falls, “I thought I told you not to go easy on me.”

“You did.”  The amicable reply would have been reason enough.  But there it was — red, the invitation to a quicker pace, the precursor before a shallow thrust gives way to something decidedly deeper, the sun reflected in the overhead window near blinding as he leans and arches into him, lifting his gaze to the ceiling as lips half-ajar mouth the other’s name (though there may very well be a name, a title to the role Taiga plays in this stageplay, something between former rival and not-yet lover) in exhalation at how his grip falters, in how he struggles at the bidding of a boy who once looked down on him and who now he looks down upon.  “Think I needed a little reminder, though.”

It’s red, nothing but _red_ , that holds him impassioned in the arms of this foolish boy full of love and light (and, currently, fills this tenacious want in _him_ ) — a color, before unnamed, that unfurls him the way only Taiga can.


	42. someday, they'll tell of a love like ours (nsfw) | kisekagakuro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kise/Kagami/Kuroko: in which primary colors really do work well together and mutual feelings abound work out to everyone's advantage from that night on.

Kise and Kuroko agree: tonight, they’ll do something different.

The discussion starts with an idea.  Ideas, when Kise gets them in that pretty little head of his, often don’t end well. 

But ideas extracted from Kise’s ever-inventive mind (and lips) and handed off to Kuroko’s (very) capable hands? 

Though they don’t always seem to fit, hardly well-suited to cooperative means off the courts, they make a _fantastic_ duo where shared desires are concerned.

* * *

It’s almost too easy, Kise remarks once they’re waiting on the redhead to emerge from the shower, getting Kagamicchi to agree.

After a game, he’s easier still to approach.  Breathing hard, gleaming from the one-on-ones and the two-on-ones. 

 _Sure_ , he grins, the ingenuity crystalline in his guileless speech, _if it’s just the two of you._

The time and place arranged, the rest of their plan seemed to be falling right into place, piece by carefully constructed piece. 

Perfect.

* * *

(Kagami-kun is perfect, Kuroko remarks in his quietest of voices, for what we both want.)

* * *

For Kise, Kagami Taiga a challenge. 

Not a conquest, far from it (he likens that mindset to friends with benefits, with more to someone like Aomine, whose policy of no strings attached remains the case for almost anyone he’s with — a few exceptions notwithstanding), because he wants the American returnee for more than just a night. 

It’s the fervency in those eyes, he thinks, the verve and the dedication. 

It’s the way his teeth glint as he throws his head back and laughs, free and open-hearted. 

It’s the roughness of his palms when he high-fives Kise and bumps chests with him, the barest lingering hold that makes him hope, makes him crave.

What he wants, he knows Kuroko wants too. 

Perhaps more, perhaps longer, but it resonates the same. 

Or perhaps not, he thinks, given how the older boy watches after him, watches the rise and fall of his shoulders as he putters around in the kitchen to make them dinner, the gentle yearning he expects to see interlaced with the same look he gets when faced with seemingly insurmountable opposition, steadfast and altogether determined.

_(Kurokocchi, you really like Kagamicchi, don’t you?)_

But if there’s one thing he won’t compromise anything for — not even Kuroko — it’s the attention of someone he feels deeper than admiration for, deeper than a simplistic appreciation for.

Because what Kise wants, Kise gets.

* * *

For Kuroko, it’s a natural progression.

They start out strangers.  Then, curious acquaintances. 

Soon thereafter, they’re mutualistic partners, obligated by what could be compared to a business contract. 

Somewhere along the way, they become friends — and partners, in more than just name.

(And somewhere along the way down that road, the light that shines brighter than anyone else in Kuroko’s eyes becomes the love that burns brighter than anything else.)

It makes him anxious, to think of losing sight of the one person who matters to him.

It makes him anxious, to think of rejection from the one person whose warm, warm fingers that card through his hair to brush leaves and petals out from between the wayward strands aren’t unwelcome, who he can’t pull away from any sooner than the ocean waves could depart (only to inevitably return to) from the bluff on the shore.

It makes him anxious, to observe him as he grows, learning more about the that passion unfurls him, about the same dedication that inspires him.

Anxious to think, to know, that Kagami would be all that he’s ever dreamed of in an lover.

_(That depends on how you want to use the word “like,” Kise-kun.)_

But if there’s one thing Kuroko knows he can do — for all his shortcomings, weaknesses, and constancy — it’s that he can make an opportunity out of nothing. 

Misdirection has many other creative uses, after all.

* * *

Whether or not he senses the two sets of eyes on him, following him as he leaves the dinner table, Kagami doesn’t comment on it.

Whether or not he’s sensed the tension over the dinner table, whether their best poker faces, some more convincing than others, Kagami doesn’t make a fuss about it.

Whether he notices — the way Kuroko trails after him, approaches him right before he returns from the linen closet to retrieve two futons for his guests, and motions for Kise to follow after — Kagami never says a word about it.

(Whether or not he’s considered it before, thought about having Kuroko back him into the foyer wall and tiptoes forward to pull him down by the shirt collar for a kiss, thought about pulling away for reasons other than to yelp and glare, accusing, at Kise sidling up to him to slip a hand under the apron and gliding past the start of his boxer shorts and—  _okay, okay, I’m…one-hundred and fifty percent down for this but— Kise, get your hand out of my pants and— Kuroko, give me a chance to breathe, holy— and, y-yeah, can we just take this to my room before I end up having to clean the hallway on top of the kitchen?_

_Just the two of us, Kagamicchi?_

_Or did you mean all three of us, Kagami-kun?_

_…All three of u— you’re seriously gonna make me say it?!_

_Yes. / Is that a yes?_

_…It’s a.  Yeah.  To— for both of you._

* * *

Much later on that night, they’ll talk over how it happened and agree.

 _It could have gone a lot better_. 

That said, it could have gone a lot worse.

* * *

For one thing: if Kagami wasn’t as tall and as built as he was — is.

Kise’s almost the same height.  The difference between Kuroko and Kagami, though, is nothing short of astounding. 

Twenty-two centimeters doesn’t sound too bad (it isn’t). 

Kuroko has the taller boy on his back for most of the first half-hour, shrugging off clothing and laving his way down from his neckline (the bite, he insists later on that evening, was only to get Kagami-kun back for playfully nipping at his chin after that first kiss) to his chest (it takes exactly three swipes of his tongue over one nipple and pinching thumb and forefinger over the other for his partner to grasp at the crown of his hair and plead with him, face turning on a color as dark as his hair, to _do that again_ ) down to his navel (“Kise-kun, you’re in the way.”  “I’m helping Kagamicchi out!  Ever heard of a helping hand?”  “Maybe if you both got off of me, I could give you both a ha— what did you just do, holy shit, _Kuroko_ — Alright, alright, you know what.  Move.  Hands and— _Kise_ — mouth off already!  No, not like that, for the love of all the basketball teams in Tokyo, just. Just— move away for, like, thirty seconds and lemme take them off myself—!”) before they’re shooed off to let Kagami strip down at his request.

It’s around which point — turning back around to face them, looking awkward, vaguely abashed by their appreciative stares — Kise takes over.

Second: if Kagami were less than modest. 

Sure, he didn’t quite respond to the blond tugging him back to the bed, instructing him to sit at the edge of the mattress, legs spread, looked nothing less than furtive as to where this was going. 

It took Kise getting on his knees, smoldering amber hues peering up at him, nuzzling at the redhead’s inner thigh, and quipping with his most sultry smile _so Kagamicchi, I was thinking about what you said before about mouthing off_ for him to get it. 

A little slow on the uptake, then, even with how obviously aroused he was.

But Kise knew — lips wrapped around the ample girth, cheeks hollowed, throat relaxed so he could take him down as far as possible; from the tremble, the telltale twitch and eager jerk forward, he’s glad all the ‘studying’ from watching those videos paid off — Kagami would come around to the idea. 

Sooner rather than later, anyway.

Kuroko settles behind him, and — pleasant as any melodic tone bringing up the weather, wafting like a cloud from above where Kise knelt — gave Kagami a proposition.  Much as he wanted to laugh over the phrasing alone ( _I was hoping you would let us both have you.  Wh-What do you mean h-have—?  I was hoping Kagami-kun would let Kise-kun and I take turns fucking you._ ), the reaction elicited focuses his attention back to the head of his cock, tasting the bitter wash of it over his tongue as soon as Kuroko makes the suggestion — a sudden spurt, brief as it is, that leaves them both drawing back and gasping for air.

“Yeah,” exhales Kagami, at length. 

Except that’s not all. 

“Well,” he hesitates, only to continue, “s’long as you don’t mind letting me…return the favor, later on?”  Then, with an soft entreaty behind vermillion eyes that no one in their right mind could refuse: “I’ve kinda always wanted it both ways with you.  Both of you.”

* * *

If they had been adverse to Kagami’s only desire, his sole demand: that would have been the final thing, what could have turned a scenario where the three of them sour, what could have ended their little arrangement right there and then.

* * *

(But how **could** they refuse, Kise would enthuse in the aftermath of it all, when Kagami was more than willing to prepare himself, admitting that this felt _way better than it did when he was trying this out in the shower, once,_ and Kise swears he’s never seen Kuroko come that hard — or with a shuddering whine that  _loud_ — before, which impresses him more than anything, since he’s seen his fair share of the smaller male masturbating between middle school and high school.

But how **could** they refuse, Kise would nudge Kuroko’s side and giggle at the sage nod from the shadow in voiceless reply, when it was just as nice to sink down into that moist, all-consuming heat as it was to be consumed, being cradled close as they lowered themselves onto Kagami in turn, the steady rocking motion as fulfilling as the insistence that yes, he’ll go faster, yes, he knows they’re not so fragile that they’ll split in half, yes, he knows he’s not exactly small and, dammit, Kise, do you have to everything into a fucking reference, no, not like that either, so stop proving my point before I, god, you still haven’t loosened up at all, is this how it felt for you guys when you were, n—nmmmhhhhhh, why are you clenching down like that all of a su— oh, _oh_ , holy hell freezing over, that was…wow…no, definitely, definitely way more than amazing…you two’re the best, seriousl— we’re doing it _again_?!

But how **could** they have said no, Kise and Kuroko both agreed — drifting off to sleep curled against Kagami’s respective right and left sides, resting three pairs of intertwined hands in a pile on Kagami’s stomach and trailing kisses over his face (lethargic cheek kiss after tongue kiss in Kise’s case and eskimo kisses to his jawline and the bridge of his nose in Kuroko’s case) before the two “little instigators” fall into dreamland and Kagami kisses them both on the forehead in turn, pulls the cleaner covers over all three, and falls asleep soon after.)


	43. human vulnerability (nsfw) | hyuuriko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hyuuga/Riko: in which matters of propriety are (not really) discussed and Hyuuga's patience is put (only not really) to the test.

The time isn’t wrong, nor the place, but he knows better than to give in right away.

Experience plays a big part in that. 

In basketball, at school, he learns through the process learning provides. Direct application, sudden epiphanies, can only teach one so much. 

The press of the inside of her— hips, he decides, knows without looking.  At the involuntary twitch of his arm in an attempt to reach for her, departs all too soon. 

It’s unfair. 

Unfair all the more when she pulls away as soon as he tries to push back. 

Further unfair and borderline cruel when _not yet_ , her dissent ghosts by the start of his shoulder, _not until I give you the okay._

He knows her well, the weight of her clothed still, leaning over skin damp after his shower.  Knows her through the curl of her lips moving along his jugular, the gentle firm knead of her palm working its way up from his knee, the swell of her— collar, his attention glides back toward the expanse of her neck, instead.

The way she hovers over the flat of his stomach, kneads a palm over his left thigh, while he diverts his attention elsewhere.  Knowing, from the way she’s poised over him, this is a challenge, a test to see how many intakes of breath it takes before the last of their resolve shatters. 

Knowing that, if he looks up to those eyes of hers, he’ll give in.

“Is this,” the lilt in her voice is gentle but the composure as she leans into him, sneaking fingers grazing at the hot, hot pulse of his— a press, too gentle, not enough, “what you were hoping?”

“I don’t know,” he rejoins, except he does.  She knows him, knows _him_ , and it’s not far removed from (what little he possesses, anyway) logical thinking that he knows her just as well.  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

There are no restraints, no rules, in the bed they lie in — here, just shy of flush to each others’ chests. 

No questions in the communication of a different variety, eyes shut at the exchange of sentiments unvoiced between the lace of tongues, deceptively languid. 

No sense of distance to be found, not when they’re already so close.

So close that, when he at last opens his eyes to see the dark incandescence in the flicker of want her gaze, that he knows the instant he’s lost.

“I’ll tell you,” arching back, with a grace that makes him shudder, makes him slide forward to meet her ( _Riko_ , he sighs, shudders at the bare brush of her hand between the firm grip of thighs and legs around his waist, and he’s definitely looking now, at the faint sun-lines along her shoulders and the bloom of her lips as she follows his gaze down to the cleft of her—) in a gesture he hopes will get his message across, “what I want first.  I want to remind you why I don’t have to ask you to take off your shirt to know you inside and out.  Why we call each other by first name only when we’re like this.  Of course, I know what you want, because—”

He barely has a chance to exhale, has a chance to register that, beneath the pleats of her uniform skirt, _she wasn’t wearing shorts after all_ , before the burning clench of that all-consuming heat takes him down.

It’s too fast, he hisses, steals the audible gasp from her quavering cadence, makes them both shiver over the intimacy of being adjoined, connected, the brief slump of her cheek burrowing into his shoulder making him run a hand through her hair, hold her even closer, not daring to move until he’s sure they can both stop shaking.

“—I want,” she trembles, he knows, not out of contrived weakness but because this was part of the promise, part of tonight’s training menu that certainly feels like an exercise in endurance if nothing else, “at least until you can make me come like this…and then, lie me back down on the bed, face first.  So I can feel you. And don’t hold back, either.”  If the anticipation at every hitch of her unsteady cadence, at every initial syllable trailing off into the next, doesn’t leave him panting into her mouth, her next words do: “I want you to fuck me until I can feel you from the inside out.”

(What tightens the vice over Junpei’s heart and his arousal — what reminds him, without a doubt, the reason why he adores her so, why he fell in love with this girl moved to brutal honesty and vivaciousness and the kind of endless determination that extends beyond the bedroom — is the murmur of laughter that accompanies the cant of their hips, their mouths, moving together, and leaves a mark on him like not even the rush of the game could.)


	44. they stare at me while i stare at you (nsfw) | momoriko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Momoi/Riko: in which birthdays are the best time to wish for the one thing you want and, as Momoi discovers through first hand experience, that your girlfriend never knew she might have wanted too.

Whatever the boys might say to her face (and not), Satsuki knows that Riko is, without a doubt, definitely a woman to be admired.

* * *

She finds a strange settling comfort in the forethought, in the knowledge. 

Then again, it’s not as thought she hasn’t known since the moment they met.  The similarities between them overshadowing any differences. 

Her first thought when they meet is _it’s nice to know I’m not the only one, after all._  

When they meet again, amidst the the steam surrounding them in the onsen and the indomitable declarations of war, her next impression of Riko is _interesting_. 

She recalls, too, the wisps of now longer hair at the base of her neck, the flicker behind golden-brown irises of irritationenvy _curiosity_ , irrevocable, but that information gets stored away the expression the older girl wears, for lack of anything else, under a star-sealed envelope. 

For future reference.

* * *

But the reluctance the older girl makes a great show of when Satsuki asks for the coach’s cell phone number the next time she strikes up a conversation with her — just before Seirin’s match against Touou — reminding, in a tone that’s hardly convincing, that she’ll answer texts faster than she does calls to her mobile — is not what Satsuki finds most interesting about Aida Riko.

But the learned ease Riko exhibits to arrange practice matches for Seirin’s needs is not what Satsuki finds attractive — though she also adores the marked changes that become of her, adores the start of her self-satisfied smiles, the growing air of confidence in her steps, the rise and fall of her shoulders as she falls asleep with her laptop (open to all the files on all her players; how careless, Satsuki hums, to leave yourself vulnerable around a former enemy) against her elbow and how she hardly stirs when Satsuki rests her head down on her shoulder and grunts before tossing a blanket over them both, even breathing settling the manager’s heartbeat until quiet slumber overtakes them both.

But the small instances, the signs that she is not merely “another female” in a male-dominated pastime turned existential endeavor to Riko — the weekend meet-ups for shopping and sharing fruit-filled crepes, the impromptu 2AM counseling of their respective concerns about _our boys_ , the insistent huff as she drapes her spare scarf around Satsuki’s shoulders and the flattering color to her cheeks when they’re done dancing to late-night pop music video marathons and trying on each others’ clothes and the hushed tradeoffs of elementary school memories gave way to a whispered _good night_ — are not what compel Satsuki to confess, to admit that the reason she spends so much time visiting during Seirin’s training sessions is not for Tetsu-kun or to give Dai-chan someone to play with but _to spend more time with you, Riko-san._

There is an inescapable solidarity she feels, in more than the inescapable stigma of their gender, in this captivating girl.

There is something inescapable, indeed, to the feeling which robs her of eloquence and speech, which presses the proverbial pause button to her heartbeat when the older girl leans forward to kiss her before shuffling back on tiptoes, which hovers in the air like the remainder of her suspended disbelief as pale pink bangs are smoothed away from her face by cool palms reaching out and the murmur of Riko’s smile tells her that _I wouldn’t have let you spend time with me if the feeling wasn’t mutual._

* * *

It is one of many instances in which Riko leaves Satsuki breathless.

* * *

The three rules about birthdays go something like this.

Rule number one: the weather will almost never work out the way you want it to.  Similar to the law about things that are naught to go wrong, she supposes. 

Who was the one who proposed that as a theory again?  Murdock?  Marshall?  Mur—

Ah, well.  The point is, Satsuki wished for at least one rain shower on her birthday (so that when she walked Riko back home, they could share an umbrella) and, instead, she got an unusually blistering May afternoon into evening.

Rule number two: physical gifts are overrated but the gift of time means much, much more.

She’s appreciative of the things the boys bought for her, though. 

The packages from viable suitors at school, several gift certificates to some of her favorite restaurants from Ki-chan (“Golden Week’s almost over but there’s always summer vacation!  Give me a ring and I’ll make time for a dinner date with Momocchi ^O^”), a birthstone pendant from Midorin (“Anything in your astrological sign’s color of influence could be considered a lucky item, after all.  I only went out of my way to ensure it was crafted from genuine emerald.”), a Piglet plush from Mukkun (on the card taped to its foot, she reads: “Momo-chin isn’t a piggy but she’s cotton candy like he is…and Piglet’s nice, soft, and cute like you, too.”), a leather-bound ledger from Akashi-kun (“Though I realize it’s a generic gift, I’m certain you of all people will use it well.”), latest flumpool single from Tetsu-kun (“I remembered Momoi-san taking out her iPod the last time Kagami-kun and Aomine-kun met up for a one-on-one and I thought you wouldn’t have bought it yet.”), and a recipe book from Kagamin (“You’re getting better and better every time you come over so I figure it’s only fair to give you free reign on your own, too.  And…yeah, if you wanna stop by and make something with me, I’d be up for that, too.  Only if you want to, f’course.”) 

All of them were thoughtful, mostly practical gifts.  She intends to make use of all of them.

Rule number three: the gift she never has to ask for — the gift that keeps on giving — is having Riko as a girlfriend.

* * *

It’s rare that they have to ask _your place or mine_ outright.

Satsuki’s parents are never home early, so it’s almost always her house by default.  Her bed’s bigger, besides.

But those are minor details, slight advantages of one over the other.

The finer details — knee tucked against the bedpost, sheets long slipped off the raised frame of the canopy bed, Satsuki rather likes lying back and leaving the rest to the brunette, pillows slipping from their place at the back of her neck as Riko runs her mouth, literally and figuratively, over the fabric of her underwear and works her out of said underwear tongue, teeth, and fingers — aren’t necessarily remembered in that precise order.

The finer details — kneeling over Riko on the rug by her desk, the flat of her knee moving in slow circles at the damp cleft between parted legs as she keeps the pace tantalizing enough to arch into and careful enough to hide the louder keens and gasps with thorough kisses — aren’t merely for the benefit of one party.

The finer details — what she asks for her eighteenth birthday, _something a little different from the usual, as long as you’re okay with it_ , and the lovely blush that spreads over Riko’s features as she curls her petite form around the taller girl’s body in a hesitant embrace that’s as warm as the anxious flutter in Satsuki’s chest and says _okay_ — are irrelevant by the time she has Riko propped back against the pile of pillows, guidelines laid out about  _what do you say if you want me to stop_ and _tell me when you’re close_.

* * *

(The finer details.

Perhaps, Satsuki thinks, that would include the way she’s mapped out the planes, the subtle creases and curves, the dapples of freckles and tanlines across Riko’s body. 

Perhaps, Satsuki supposed, that would include the way all her nighttime fantasies and waking daydreams culminated to this momentous occasion, a conjecture, a theory, that she’s hoped to apply empirical evidence to long before they reached the point in their relationship where they began to explore one another at length and in turn.

Perhaps, Satsuki would smile to think, it’s those finer details that would remind her, years later, of these simple highlights about the cloud-lined eve of Satsuki’s eighteenth birthday and recall — more than the sensuality of their banter or the dazed satisfaction writ across Riko’s face in the afterglow — the instant she knew she was in love.)

* * *

At the first nip at her jawline, she hardly garners a flinch.  Laves over the forming red mark nevertheless, drawing back to gauge her reaction. 

Curiosity but not a trace of that familiar spark.  Satsuki frowns.  That wasn’t it, then.

At the (slightly harder) press of teeth at the plateau of her shoulder, Riko sighs.  Leans into it, too. 

Alright, Satsuki grins at the hand that guides her by the nape forward for a leisured kiss and a gliding palm down the path of her spine.  Shivers a bit despite herself because she always loves when Riko does that.  Dips down lower past her neckline while she locks eyes with the older girl smiling back, waits for a nod to continue.

At the tugging pull of her teeth closing around the small swirls of color on her breasts, clamping down hard to twinge but enough to not send outright pain signals and neurons into motion, the moist slide of her fingers drifting past her navel and dipping right in to _oh_ , Riko’s fist darts to her now gritted teeth but the pitch of that noise, impending storm outside or not, was impossible to hide, _whatever you did just now d-do that one more time_ _._

So, like any good girlfriend, Satsuki does.

But she does one better, too, pulls her forefinger out as soon as she hears that labored exhale only slips another right along with it to the knuckle — until Riko thrums to life, the soles of her feet stamping at the mattress and the preemptive arm around her thigh to brace her not enough to keep the immediate tremor from unfurling her, spreading her legs all the more with a demand from the back of her throat to _again_ _, **please**._

Needless to say, by the time she’s gone from nipples (leaving them, to the slightest quirk of her thumb, sensitive enough to make Riko sieze up and whimper) down the pale expanse of her tummy (more than enough space — and permission — to leave kisses that pinch and pull at the darkening skin; it must feel good, Satsuki notes, from the bruising hold Riko has on her forearm, on her wrist, on the swell of her hip) and ensures the bare promise of further pleasure later on with the curling thrust of her fingers, she’s as amazed as Riko looks how the one-two rhythm kneads her open so easily, to the point where the older girl moves right back against them in earnest. 

But it’s the way she seizes up and clenches down, heaving with the effort to keep her hips raised and her eyes open makes Satsuki want to detour from her hipbones in favor of giving what lies beneath that warm pulse rutting against her palm a taste, knows that teeth can grant a certain level of desire but knows better still, with the tip and the length of her tongue, how to draw out the tempo and when the twitch of Riko’s ankle resting over hers means to pick up the pace, _no more, please, you’ve totally proven your point and— flashlight, okay, there, I said it, so just put your mouth on me and in me and let me feel you already, Satsuki, **god**_ and, of course, she needs no further prompting than that.

(It’s the clear memory she keeps close because her eyes on Riko’s face the entire time, right before her lips drop below the horizon of her abdomen, before the indolent lick from the salt-sweet dripping edge all the way up to the taut nub Satsuki knows all too well, a little too well, and before the convulsion tells her _that’s, oh, feels i-incredibly good, like shove me on my side like I’m already about to—_  that makes Satsuki consider that birthday, above all else the best birthday she’s ever celebrated with her girlfriend — in bed and otherwise.)


	45. i wanna be (strong for you) | kisekasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise/Kasamatsu: in which no one is as strong as they appear and no one - not even the indomitable Kise Ryouta - is immune to what the passage of time brings.

Anyone who knows Kise Ryouta well enough (probably) knows that Kaijou’s ace hates to lose.

Not a vengeful person unless driven to it, it’s the only thing Kise hates in the world more than anything else. 

Losing to a team stronger than Kaijou turned out to be, losing to a team weaker than he thought them to be. 

Losing to a rival, losing to a friend. 

Losing a rival and a friend.

Losing track of, contact of, and connections to— people.

People like his old teammates, sometimes, when the fancy for a get-together for old times’ sake strikes a matchlight within him.

People like his current-turned-former teammates, other times, when he gets nostalgic for a run through the stomping grounds with his graduated senpai.

People like his senpai.

 

(Like the one person, the one senpai, Kise could never, ever think of as weak— not anywhere near as weak, at least, as he was.)


	46. and in that sound, everything will change | kagakuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kagami/Kuroko: in which progression is directly proportionate to the ways in which shadow and light interplay within casual settings...but especially where names are concerned.

He could never imagine, not in a million years, ever calling him “Tetsuya.”

Then again, it’s sort of impossible…not to think of him that way.  Sometimes. 

Much as he hates to admit it, Kuroko’s worse than a shadow with the way he seemed to stick to Taiga everywhere he went, even when his corporeal form wasn’t nearby, and the gradual shift has been nothing less than as jarring as learning to call his teammate by something other than his family name.

(“T-Tetsuya.  Is it…okay if I call you that?”)

No one who played with him at Teikou claims to be surprised. 

Kise— well, he’s one hell of a piece of work, so his reaction is more comical to Taiga than anything else. 

Midorima is the first to insist on a proper first date even while he pretends not to care, Takao backing him up in this endeavor with actual movie tickets he’s procured from a classmate’s returned favor.

Aomine is the first to reassure him, even while they could be focusing on their usual weekly streetball matches, that he won’t screw it up.  That he can’t screw it up.  And, if he does, then he’ll “try to keep Satsuki from ripping your head off.”  While the last bit’s far from comforting, he knows Aomine gets him so Taiga does feel better hearing that he has an ally.

Akashi hears about it through word of mouth, probably Kise’s, but there aren’t any death threats.  So Taiga thanks whatever basketball deities granted them that and tries not to think about anything else.

Murasakibara, predictably, gives him a noncommittal shrug when the subject gets brought up over their kinda-sorta-not-really double-date with Tatsuya, who smiles with his teeth bared and turns to the other Seirin player rather expectant, as if he were the one anxiously awaiting an answer.

(“I don’t mind.  But I have a request for Kagami-kun in return, if you don’t mind me asking.”)

For Kuroko, no, **Tetsuya** , he’d do anything.

(“I want to call you Taiga-kun from now on, too.”)

He never does figure out if their booth landed in a vat of magma at that moment or if his face really caughtfire.

But, at that moment, all he could think about was a single word, squeaked out half-startled and half-elated (even if he didn’t look half as amused — damn Murasakibara — or as happy — dammit Tatsuya — as the other two across the table):

_Yes!_


	47. i've got a feeling we'll be (so much more) | kagakuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kuroko keeps a journal, writes haiku poetry in his spare time, and learns that premonitions can be frightening(ly wonderful) things.

 

３／３１ ｜ 午前９：５５時

They say high school is a time for new beginnings of all kinds.

I believe in that much.

I hope that it’ll be the case.

 

_First bird to return_

_Robin’s orange against last snow_

_Spring has arrived._

 

* * *

 

 

３／３１ ｜ 午後１０：１１時

—At least, I’ve been hoping that would be the case ever since I left ‘that place.’

Today, I saw someone who reminded me that new beginnings – and new opportunities – don’t always have to present themselves so clearly.

Nor do they always come in non-corporeal forms.

 

_Wavering blossoms_

_Carrying hope and promise_

_Follow shadows close behind._

 

* * *

 

 

４／１ ｜ 午前９：５０時

I found him again. 

Or, really, it’s more correct to say he found me again. 

We’ve crossed paths multiple times since the open clubhouse fair during orientation.  Headed in the same direction then and to our homeroom class later.  Since I’ve taken to sitting in the seat behind him, I’m surprised he hasn’t said a word about it.

But I have a name now.

Kagami Taiga.

 

_Transparent colored_

_Fire scatters translucent feathers –_

_A Phoenix’s cry._

 

* * *

 

 

４／１０ ｜ 午後７：４５時

Seirin’s basketball club turned out to be an interesting place.

Their coach is an interesting person.  Their captain and their third-year and second-year players are, too. 

No one’s been admitted on the spot, but Furihata-kun insists that it’s more likely than not because they’ve already decided on a way to fairly enlist into the team’s regular lineup.

Kawahara-kun and Fukuda-kun agree that Kagami-kun is a guaranteed pick among us, though.

With a form like his and such raw potential that’s impossible to miss, I couldn’t agree with them more.

 

_Tiger, not Mirror,_

_Wear your brightest eyes to dance_

_With the chosen ones._

 

* * *

 

 

４／１０ ｜ 午後１０：３０時

After finding Kagami-kun out on the street courts and watching him for long enough, I can’t fall asleep.

After seeing Kagami-kun’s potential as close as a one-sided match’s expanse away, I can’t help but stay up wondering.

After watching Kagami-kun this long, I’m sure of it.  I’ve never been so sure of my instincts. 

Then again, my first impression almost always tells the truth.

Kagami-kun can do it.

If it’s Kagami-kun, I know he can.

If it’s with Kagami-kun, I believe anything is possible.

 

_Into our future,_

_Possibilities like stars_

_Shine like miracles._

 

* * *

 

 

(And in the next year, Kuroko Tetsuya will learn that his earliest written suspicions would prove themselves – manifested in several most unexpected forms – truer than his journal entries could have ever detailed to him or predicted in writing.)

 


	48. like a boy of summer gives (his first kiss) | kagakuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kuroko reflects on the summer he fell in love.
> 
> Written for [szczepter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/szczepter) and the [#kagakurosummer celebration weekend](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/kagakurosummer) hosted by the aforementioned lovely writer & headcanon queen \o/

 

Their first summer spent together, they are together.

But not together.

Not the way Tetsuya longs to be.

Their last month of summer vacation: training camp. 

Kagetora-san drives them in his van.  Three plus hours, all the way out to where they can see the ocean.  

It’s a locale meant to become like a well-acquainted friend for Seirin, if not a second home, for the next week or so.

But once they get over their initial awe, that’s all the free time they get. 

From then on, they respond to signals, muscle memories, the promise of a Winter Cup victory.

 

 

(When Coach blows her whistle, they run.

When someone yells some variation of _Seirin fight!_ everyone on the team shouts in reply.

And wherever Kagami-kun’s shadow departs to, Tetsuya soon gives chase.)

 

* * *

 

 

Summer has never been Tetsuya’s favorite month.

He prefers the cold. 

Always has, likely always will. 

When you’re uncomfortable during the wintertime, you can just bundle up or add more layers when you’re out.

When you’re uncomfortable during the summer, there’s no amount of layers you can ever remove.

Not in public, anyway.

In L.A., Kagami-kun tells him, no one bats an eye if you’re a guy and you walk around only in swim trunks.

Still, when dusk settles the slow-fading August heat and Kagami too tosses his shirt aside, Tetsuya’s conscience - and chest - aches so much he has to turn away.

 

(The heat is dreadful.

Dashing here and there on the hot sand all day even more so.

But any listlessness and lethargy felt vanishes the moment Kagami-kun looks his way and _smiles_ , the sanguine hue as brilliant as it is chagrined by his open stare, and Tetsuya decides that maybe he could grow to like summer after all.)

 

* * *

 

Their first night together, they are not.

They are, however, spent.

Body-tired and weather-weary, their futons lay beside one another.

Kagami-kun is, to Tetsuya’s knowledge, fast asleep.

He’s caught the taller one sleeping before: in class, after practice, the few instances where Kagami-kun’s let him stay over at his apartment.

The even steady sounds of his breathing and the occasional snores aside, Tetsuya can’t imagine a sight more charming.

"You know," a hushed admittance, "I worry that I’ll never get to tell you, Kagami-kun.  Because every time I’ve tried, the timing never seems right."

Koganei grumbles in his sleep something about blankets at his left and - at his feet - Nigou snuffles out sympathy with a wet nudge of his nose to Tetsuya’s heel.

  


(Long after he falls into somewhat restless slumber, Tetsuya wakes to a pair of arms wound about his stomach.

In retrospect, a turn of his head was unnecessary.

Who else could bring the sun indoors, cast a glow from where they entwined to the dawning flush of his face behind his hands, and set his hopes alight the way Kagami-kun did?)

 

* * *

 

 

Years down the line, Tetsuya will ask the same questions.

 

_Did you know_ , Tetsuya will clutch his partner’s sleeve while they depart from the street courts that late November night, _why I thanked you after we brought Touou - and Aomine-kun - back down?_

_Did you know_ , Tetsuya will reach out when his friend is the last to leave the night before their match against Rakuzan, _how I felt about you as early as I realized it - the night after our practice match against Kaijou_ _?_

_Did you know_ , Tetsuya will be braver when the New Year arrives, as Seirin’s many winding paths begin to break apart and wind about his worried heart, _that I was awake the night you let me sleep in your arms during training camp?_

 

He feels it in the way Kagami-kun leans in, hesitates lets his eyes fall shut when their palms press together and their noses brush, tells him _I should be the one thanking you_.

He feels it in the way Kagami-kun crouches down, meets him halfway, falls somewhere between a whisper of _I’m glad it wasn’t just me_ and _I’m glad I met you too_.

He feels it in the way Kagami-kun, his light at low points and high points and through every tough time they’ve faced head-on, how he pulls him in to the gentle push of Tetsuya’s warmth leaning into him, and says _yes, yes, **yes**._

 

* * *

 

(It’s an echoing answer and an ode to the first summer they spent together, to the summer they promised each other love, and to the future of forever - wherever it takes them.)

 


	49. a little too good (multitasking) | kagakuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which domestic life isn't at all what it's cracked up to be. Probably.

Taiga’s never believed in a thing called “too much.”

Better to have more than not enough.

With food and drink, with his solitary living conditions, he’s always been lucky. 

So it’s more a matter of why he’s always viewed the world that way rather than how to get there. 

Waste not, want not? 

More like keep your shelves as well-stocked well as you can and the rest will follow. 

There’s no such thing when it comes to Tetsuya.

He’s always been the quiet sort, middle school to high school and beyond, outspoken at times and withdrawn at others. 

He’s polite, sure-footed as he is quick-witted, unfailingly so.

He’s comically forgettable, waning moonbeams beneath a pre-dusk sky.

But when Taiga least expects it, Tetsuya is as bright as the light as he’s claimed Taiga to be.

His shadow, Tetsuya, who’s now his college roommate. 

Taiga’s never understood metaphors. 

He’s never taken to complicated analogies to explain anything - least of all the one and only sport he’s passionate about. 

His shadow, though, seems to enjoy them a little too much. 

"Kagami-kun," Tetsuya blinks, impassive face a well-formed illusion; Taiga’s learned over the years how to notice details through his partner, learns what it means when the thin corners of his mouth widen by a fraction.  "You must have a lot of trouble multitasking, don’t you?"

"Watch it," Taiga grouses, leaves his post to reach over the counter for a loose fistful of damp blue hair, "or else this guy who’s shit at multitasking won’t make enough pancakes for you."

"If you ate all those," Tetsuya points out, all mild cadence and millimeter-blooming smiles, "even you would have a terrible stomachache, I’d imagine."

Taiga can’t find a single argument for that.

Or against it.

Neither can Tetsuya when he leans in, drags the taller man forward by the mouth, and hands settle at the planes of his back in a gesture so tender that it surprises Taiga when he’s kissed firm enough to make him forget about the bowl of batter waiting by the sizzling stovetop and everything else.

Everything except for the soft appreciative noises Tetsuya makes when Taiga scoops him up effortlessly his arms - to entertain them both, he announces, in a bit of ‘multitasking’ with a pliant Tetsuya perched on the island countertop.

Everything except for the smug little curl to the ends of Tetsuya’s lips when Taiga huffs out a disbelieving laugh of _multitasking my ass -_ to which Tetsuya remarks _and here I was hoping it would be the other way around this morning._

Except for the significant lack of pancakes for breakfast that morning - a sacrifice that Taiga, steadfast light to Tetsuya’s shadow now more than ever, was more than willing to make.


	50. set your sights (to scale the map) | kagakuro (nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which - even as second years playing Captain and Vice-Captain of Seirin's Basketball Team - Kagami and Kuroko are absolutely up to no good.

"Just a little longer," Tetsuya learns through hands-on experience, are the most dangerous words he’s ever known.

It’s not only dangerous for Tetsuya, either. 

His light acknowledges on a regular basis, in good humor, how dangerous these locker room liaisons have become over the past couple of years they’ve been together.

Together being a relative term for how their partnership turned relationship changed since they were first-years.

They’re still Seirin’s light and shadow combination pair. 

Seirin still has Kagami Taiga, their unstoppable ace.

Seirin still has Kuroko Tetsuya, their invisible ace.  

Except they’re _Captain_ Kagami and _Vice-Captain_ Kuroko now and they’re old enough, Tetsuya reasons, to know better.

———

But when his Captain drops to his knees in front of him, removing the last article of clothing that holds the pieces of his resolve together, Tetsuya reasons that “better” is as much a relative term as “dangerous.”

———

There’s nothing about Taiga that Tetsuya doesn’t like.

His courageousness, bravado and brashness borderline senseless. 

His dedication, flashing fire-bright at goals determinate. 

His kindness, open arms like wings outstretched.

Coaxed out of him, though, Taiga’s more sefless side can be a work of wonder as well.

———

 _You did tell me,_ Taiga mumbles into the space above Tetsuya’s parted lips, almost bashful, _anything goes_.

 _I won’t go back on my word,_ Tetsuya assures, leaves Taiga’s lap to lift his arms and let his capable Captain remove his jersey and guide him to standing,  _if that’s what you’re worried about._

 _Nah,_ Taiga hums, unmoved until Tetsuya’s palms push him back-first against the lockers and his hands roam over the slight shivers on smaller player’s skin, _I know you better than that._

Indeed he does — _which is why_ , Tetsuya seals his promise with a featherlight kiss to the tips of Taiga’s fingertips, _I’m thankful_.

———

For being his light, for being his inspiration, for the being the means to his end and the end of his selfish means, Tetsuya will always be thankful.

———

Their team is made up mostly of freshman this year. 

Aside from Furihata-kun, they’re all young and inexperienced players.  In terms of skill, about as good at the game as Tetsuya was back in Teikou. 

But Vice-Captain Kuroko encourages them.

He insists they put in the same kind of effort during training that they’d put in during an official match. 

He believes in them the way they ought to believe in themselves, calling out verbal praise and noting improvements to join alongside Kagami-kun’s, brainstorming with Furihata-kun new team play formations to put into effect at their latest practice game.

Their hard work pays off when, their next practice game against a prefecture-renowned rising star, they win. 

By a landslide.

Even so, Tetsuya continues to call him _Kagami-kun._

More out of habit than out of necessity.

In public spheres, for the sake of keeping up appearances, he’s _Kagami-kun._  

Sometimes  _our fearless Kagami-kun_ _,_ if there’s a jovial mood floating about or collective cause for merriment. 

Or, when Tetsuya wants to work his way under Kagami-kun’s skin in ways only his shadow would know, it’s _Captain._

 

* * *

 

 

It’s _Captain_ while he grinds his hips against Taiga’s, reclined, eyes falling open and shut to the hands peeling off his basketball shorts to palm him through his boxer briefs too tight, too constricting, too moist—

"Already?"  Another hand ghosts, teasing, over his knee.  "I barely even touched you yet."

"It’s Taiga-kun’s fault,"Tetsuya replies, sighs petulant as he rests his chin on the cleft of Taiga’s shoulder, "for taking so long."

It’s _Captain_ when he mouths the inside of Tetsuya’s thighs, starts to leave marks only after Tetsuya’s about to throw away his pride and beg for it, yanks at his hair and keens—

"Fuck," swears Taiga, an English word Tetsuya’s heard countless times before, pulling away from tracing the crown of his cock with his tongue long enough offer another hoarse remark, "you’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?"

"Not yet," smiles Tetsuya, sweet and sure, as if the sight of Taiga shuddering when Tetsuya strokes his thumb over his damp hairline and his cheeks flushed and mouth gleaming doesn’t arouse him.  "But if you keep that up, sooner rather than later."

"Don’t say that," Taiga laughs, sheepish surprise to the way he swats Tetsuya’s hands away at length.  "Unless you want me to take that as a challenge."

"What if I wanted you," the hitch to Tetsuya’s voice makes Taiga’s lowering head pick itself up again, "to take that as a challenge… _Captain_?”

 

* * *

 

 

As it turns out, “Captain” is a more dangerous term of endearment that’s far more effective at getting Taiga worked up than Tetsuya anticipated.

 _Much, **much** better,_ Tetsuya decides later while he leans into Taiga’s warm massage, an apology for the soreness in his muscles caused by his exhausting competitive spirit and impressive stamina (among other equally…large things), _than either of us anticipated._

 


End file.
